Kamikaze
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: FINISHED! Chapter 46 posted. An interrogation goes horribly wrong and Goren must watch his worst nightmare occur before his eyes. No character death. BA, WIP
1. The attack

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Dick Wolf, which is probably a good thing considering that I'd turn the show into a melodramatic fluffball!

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It wasn't unheard of. It had happened to George Huang and Elliot Stabler from Manhattan SVU a few years ago. As much as everyone wished they could block it out, the dirty truth was that it had happened many times before, to many good cops. Sometimes they lived, sometimes they died. Sometimes they ended up somewhere in between the two. Reprimands were given to some who had left themselves open to the situation, while medals of valor were given to others who fought back bravely.

Sometimes there was only one person in the room. Sometimes there were two, partners. He had always thought the times when it was partners must be the worst. When it happened, there was the inevitable guilt. Guilt on all sides, of course, except the side of the attacker, but most unbearable and acute to the person who had been there, who had jumped up in horror, maybe tried to defend their partner, but had ultimately been forced to watch their friend suffer the attack.

It was the guilt of having allowed it to happen. It was the guilt of a survivor, wondering _why me? _It was the guilt of thinking that maybe they could have done more, avoided it or put a quick stop to it. The guilt of wondering _did I cause this?_

It was the guilt that had finally broken Bobby.

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There hadn't been any indication that this interrogation would be different than the thousands they'd conducted before, both as individuals and as partners. The suspect had seemed normal - obviously nervous, but neither aggressive nor submissive to the officers who brought him through the squad room and into Interrogation Room 1. He hadn't struggled or spat threats at onlookers. He hadn't insisted that they take the handcuffs off of him when they sat him down, although they did anyway because that was just procedure. He had been soft-spoken through the first few minutes of the interview, answering Eames's background questions in a bored-sounding monotone.

He had begun to look agitated when Goren asked him why he had chosen to kill children. "Did you miss out on your childhood?" he had prodded. "Did you think that killing these innocent kids," he said, spreading out the nine photographs in front of him, "would bring back whatever innocence you once had, innocence that you lost a long time ago?"

The suspect had glared at Goren and bit out, "No."

"Oh? Then what was it? Did you get off on it, Steven? The sight of tiny children being broken under your hands? Did you come in your pants as you snapped their necks?"

Eames had let out a tiny gasp, shocked at Goren's crude questioning even though she had been expecting it.

It had probably been the gasp that decided the events of the next two minutes. She had drawn attention to herself.

Suddenly the room exploded. It only took seconds, but to Goren it seemed like forever. The suspect flipped the table almost directly into Goren's lap, with enough force that it might have flown completely across the room if it hadn't run into the sizeable body of the detective. While Goren struggled to get his breath back and the table off of him, and before Eames had time to do more than jump to her feet in alarm, the man had used his uncuffed arms to slam her into the wall.

Goren watched helplessly as his partner was overpowered, feeling like he had been slowed to half-speed while everything around him continued at a breakneck pace. Her head snapped back and thudded into the raised edge of the one-way mirror a second after her body hit the wall, and he could hear the crack of ribs snapping a second later as the man's full body weight hit Eames and tried to keep going right through her.

She had hardly made a sound. There hadn't really been time. All that came out was a shocked breath when he first hit her, followed by a high-pitched wheeze when the air was crushed from her lungs by 220 pounds of raging criminal.

Goren was on him only a second after he heard the horrible cracking noise. Possibly less than a second, but surely not more. He was taller than her attacker, which gave him an advantage when he wrapped one arm around the man's neck in a choke hold and tried to yank him backward.

The suspect threw his weight forward at the same time, resisting Goren's tackle long enough to get a hand around Eames throat and squeeze sharply. Desperate now, knowing she might be killed right in front of him, Goren threw his weight into pulling the man away from her. The action succeeded, but with no weight left to balance himself, Goren went down onto the upturned edge of the table, taking the suspect with him.

A second later, a flood of blue burst into the room. Someone grabbed the attacker by his hair and slammed a fist into his jaw. Someone else threw himself down and joined Goren in holding the thrashing suspect on the floor. Two figures detached themselves from the pack and ran to the slumped body of Alexandra Eames, who had been kept upright throughout the attack only by the suspect's hand and weight. Without him pinning her there, she simply didn't have the strength to hold herself up.

A pair of handcuffs flew through the air into Goren's hands. He grappled with the suspect for a long moment, forcing his hands behind his back with the help of another detective and deliberately snapping the cuffs a few notches too tight. The cuffs made the distinctive clacking sound that indicated that the mechanism had engaged, but the noise was completely overshadowed in his head by what he heard a voice call from across the room where his partner lay:

"Oh, Jesus, someone get an ambulance!"


	2. The return

When he was sure the man was buried under enough policemen that he wouldn't escape and do more damage, Goren stumbled to where Eames lay in a spreading pool of blood. "Alex!"

"I don't think she's conscious, sir," said one of the men leaning over her. His shirt was open and he was using a large swatch torn from his undershirt as a makeshift bandage for the wound on her head. It didn't seem to be controlling the pulsing flow of blood.

He fell to his knees at the edge of the pool of blood. Her blood. _Oh god. _He had to force himself to keep breathing as he lifted one of her wrists and felt for a pulse.

It was there, but only barely. Thready and rapid under his fingers. The blood was coming from her head in spurts, he noticed again. _Jesus, it's an artery_, he thought, not realizing that he also spoke it out loud.

"I think so," said the younger man. "It's . . . bad. Does anyone have something I can use as a bandage?" he called to the room at large.

One man ran out of the room, presumably for a first aid kit, while two others handed over their handkerchiefs.

Looking back at Goren, the man said said, "If you're steady enough for it, could you give me a hand keeping pressure on this?"

Without hesitation, he put his hands down on top of the other man's and pressed. A bolt of pain shot through his right wrist and rivulets of her blood dripped from the sodden cloth and ran over his hands. He wondered if he'd ever be able to wash it off.

Her blood, he thought again, staring down at her pale form. Her blood on the floor, the walls, his hands, his clothes. His fault.

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. "Bobby," a voice said near his ear. "Bobby, let go. The paramedics are here."

Not moving his hands, he looked up dumbly at his captain. "What?"

"You can move your hands. They're here for her," Deakins said, reaching down and turning Goren's head toward the man, woman, and bright yellow stretcher that had appeared in the room.

He looked back down at his hands, at her under his hands. The blood that saturated everything. Finally, it clicked in his head and he looked at the paramedics with eyes that actually saw them. "I'm . . . sorry." He wasn't sure if he could make himself pull completely away, and he was grateful to feel Deakins grasp his arm to steady him as he stood up.

"She'll be ok," Deakins said, trying to reassure himself as well as Bobby. "Stay with her. You need to get checked out too."

The paramedics slipped in where Goren had been kneeling. Within seconds an IV line was channeling a saline solution into her arm and they were strapping her to a backboard as quickly as they could. "No head blocks," ordered one of them. "We need to keep up the pressure." The board went up, onto the stretcher, and its white linens immediately turned red. The female paramedic followed the board onto the stretcher, straddling Eames. She held the t-shirt scraps against the wound with one hand and kept Alex's head facing directly upward with the other.

"Let's go," said the male medic after checking to make sure that his partner was in a stable position. "Sir, are you coming with us?" he asked Goren.

"Yes! Yes, yes." He felt like he was at half-speed again. Everyone was running, calling, doing something, and he could only stand there, paralyzed.

"Then let's go. We need to get her loaded into the ambulance."

Goren nodded and tried to follow them, but stumbled.

"Whoa!" Deakins said, appearing again at his side. "I'll give you a hand downstairs. You don't look too steady."

He didn't protest, just accepted the support as he trailed the stretcher into the elevator.

"Pulse?" the standing paramedic barked at his partner.

"One forty. We need to fill her up. Does either of you know what blood type she is?" she asked the two other men.

They looked at each other. "Uh . . . A, I think," Goren finally said.

"Drug allergies?"

"None."

"Good," she said as the elevator opened on the ground floor. "Let's move."

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She returned to consciousness quickly, with a jerk, and immediately regretted it when her body exploded in pain. She moaned quietly and decided that she wasn't quite ready to open her eyes, if this was what she had to look forward to.

"Alex?" a voice said, and someone picked up her hand, stroking the back of it. "Alex, come on. Open your eyes."

The voice sounded so sweet. So concerned. It sounded familiar, but she couldn't pin it down. "Hurts . . ." she managed to croak.

There was silence for a moment, and then a quick breath that could have been a sob or just a gasp. "I know, honey, but you have to open your eyes. Wake up for me and the doctor will give you something for the pain."

That was a much better bargain than waking up to pain, pain, and more pain, and she allowed her eyes to flutter open. For a few seconds, she couldn't focus, and all she saw was a large stretch of white that must have been the ceiling.

As her sight began to clear, so did her mind, and she remembered. "Bobby!" she cried, trying to sit up. She didn't know if he was ok. Had the suspect hurt him too? Oh god . . .

Her visitor put down her hand and moved his palm to her cheek, gently turning her head toward him. "I'm right here. Perfectly fine, I promise."

Feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, she fell back against the pillows with a sigh. "You're really ok?"

"I'm really ok," he said with a small smile. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"Bobby . . . what happened to me? I mean, I remember him . . . going nuts, but, well, what kind of injuries do I have?" She turned her head toward him, intending to search his eyes, but when she took in his sitting form, all questions about herself were forgotten. His clothes were covered in half-dried blood, from his neck to his thighs. "Oh my god. _What happened_?"

He held up his hands. "It's ok. It's, uh . . . it's yours, not mine. I'm going to go get your doctor," he said hastily, and left the room before she could respond.

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Two days later, Alex lay in her hospital bed, trying to convince herself that things didn't suck as much as they seemed to. She'd been told of all her injuries: a concussion, a laceration over her temporal artery, four broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a hemothorax. She had more of someone else's blood in her at the moment than her own. The injuries were painful and limiting, but she could deal with that. She would eventually get better and the pain would fade.

What was truly unbearable was the fact that she hadn't seen Bobby since she first woke up after surgery, and she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't just dreamed him then. In the past two days, she'd had visits from just about every family member she'd ever known, as well as an array of police officers she'd worked with over the years. Ron Carver had visited once, and Deakins and his wife had stopped by both of the days she'd been in here.

Each time, Deakins had told her that "Goren said to tell you hello," but that was all he would offer on the condition of her partner.

At least, he used to be her partner. Things weren't looking too positive on that front right now.

When Deakins had come this morning, she'd asked him flat-out what was wrong with Bobby. He'd looked away from her and mumbled something about a lot of paperwork backing up on their desks.

In other words, he was making any excuse he could not to see her.

Did he blame her? That was her biggest fear, and it overshadowed every thought she'd had since she woke up. She'd made herself into a sitting duck. She'd just stood there when the guy had thrown the table at her partner, and when she saw him coming at her, she remembered with shame, her only thought had been, "Oh god Bobby, stop him!" She hadn't even fought back.

Now she was getting all the sympathy and Goren, who'd thrown himself at her attacker to protect her and broken his wrist in the process, was left with . . . paperwork? She couldn't see how he would be able to _not _blame her, and she was proved right as the days unfolded and she saw neither hide nor hair of him.

He'd rather fill out expense reports than be forced to see her.

With a quiet sob, she turned on her side and curled into a ball, relishing the sharp pain the movement brought. At least the pain gave her something else to focus on.


	3. Secrets

Alex looked up at Deakins when he entered her room the next day and said quietly, "Get me out of here."

He looked at her in surprise. "You know I can't do that, Alex. Your body thinks it went ten rounds with King Kong; we're still not sure if they've found all the injuries. You're keeping your ass in that bed until they can promise me that you'll be safe if you go home."

She started to shake her head in denial, but the headache she thought she'd beaten back returned when she moved it. "I'm beat-up, but I'm not in any danger. I can't stay in here, Captain."

He slipped into the chair next to her bed, the chair that seemed to have been occupied by everyone she knew in the past few days except one tall, brooding man, and took her hand. "I hate hospitals too, and believe me, if I thought you'd be okay leaving, I'd spring you myself. But right now you're miles from okay." He paused to look down at her and his face softened when he saw the distress in her eyes. "Everyone's terrified for you, Alex. All we can think about is what we could have done, how we could have stopped him faster, before he could get to you. I'm not sure about anyone else, but personally, I need you to recover safely because I don't think _I'll_ be able to recover until you do. And that means you're staying here."

She turned her face away from him, moving slowly. "All I can do in here is think."

"Do you want me to bring you some books or magazines?"

"How about a metal file baked into a cake?"

"Very funny, Eames. Listen, I've got someone here who wants to see you," Deakins said, standing up and leaning out the door.

She looked back to him, suddenly not able to breathe. Had he finally come? Maybe to deliver the final blow to their partnership?

Her breath came out in a disappointed rush when her visitor stepped into the room. He was short and slim, light-haired. Young. And she had no idea who he was.

"Detective Eames," Deakins said formally, "I'd like you to meet Officer Tom Pierce. He's the one who . . . took care of you until the paramedics arrived."

She managed a weak smile to hide her disappointment. "I guess I should thank you for that, Officer."

Deakins patted her shoulder. "I'm going to go hunt down my wife while you guys talk. She went in search of coffee a while ago and she hasn't come back . . ."

Alex just nodded slightly and watched the younger man sit in the chair Deakins had just vacated. "Hi," he said nervously, obviously intimidated by the tubes and wires attached to her body.

"Hi," she said, dredging up a slightly larger smile this time. "Do you mind if I ask what exactly Captain Deakins meant when he said you took care of me?"

Pierce swallowed. "He was exaggerating, really. I guess you probably don't have any idea how many people came running into that room to help you and your partner. I was just part of the crowd, except since I have EMT training, I went right to you instead of helping your partner with the, uh, suspect."

"Tell me about it," she said. "Please."

"What do you want to know, exactly? There are probably a lot of blanks I can't fill in."

"He knocked me out when he hit my head into the wall. After that, I don't remember anything until waking up after surgery. I just . . . I need to know what happened in that room."

He looked down at his hands, then back up at her. "Are you allowed to have coffee?"

"Huh?"

"It will, uh, probably take a long time to tell you about it. I was thinking I'd go get us some coffee to drink while I talk."

"Oh. Well, for the moment I'm not supposed to consume anything the nurse hasn't approved, but if you want to grab some for yourself that's fine. And, you know, if you should happen to bring back an extra half-cup or something, just by accident . . ."

He grinned. "Understood, Detective. Milk or sugar?"

"Sugar, please." She watched him disappear from the room, then closed her eyes. She had to get out of here. Lying in this bed, she felt like a fake, a drain on everyone's resources. It was a feeling she loathed.

Five minute later, Pierce was back with two styrofoam cups. He set one down on her bedside table and cracked the lid, then returned to the chair and pulled the lid off of his own. "Be careful; it's hot."

"Thanks." She carefully picked up the cup, which was filled only about a third of the way, and opened the lid the rest of the way. "Would you tell me about what happened now?"

"Um, yeah." He looked down at his hands for a second. "Look, I don't want to upset you too much, ok? I'll tell you what happened, but you have to try to just listen without freaking out."

"I can do that," she assured him.

"Ok, well . . . I was standing at a friend's desk when we heard a god-awful crashing sound coming from one of the interrogation rooms. Just about everyone jumped up and headed over there to see what had happened, and I got to the door of the room just about the same time as your captain. The guy was . . . he had you up against the wall with his arms against your chest. It looked like he was pushing hard. I guess that's what broke your, uh, ribs. You were bleeding from the cut in your head.

"And then your partner grabbed him in a headlock. He looked really . . ." The man paused. "He looked scared, but also like he wanted to kill the guy. Which I guess isn't that strange, considering it was his partner being hurt. But anyway, he grabbed the guy and tried to pull him away, but the guy fought back and he . . . I think he was going to try to strangle you, but your partner kept his hold on him and literally threw himself backwards. They both went flying over the table. That's when the rest of us got the door open."

She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the image of Bobby throwing himself at someone who obviously had no problem with killing police officers.

"Are you ok, Detective Eames?" Pierce asked. "You just got really pale."

She blinked slowly. "I'm ok. It's just, you know . . . overwhelming. And call me Alex, it's quicker."

"Ok, Alex then," he said with a careful nod. "Like I said, I went right to you once I saw that there were plenty of people on the guy who attacked you. You were on the floor - like you told me, you'd been knocked unconscious - and bleeding heavily, mostly from your head. You know by now that it was an artery, right?"

"Yeah. I'm told I would have died pretty quickly if someone hadn't put serious pressure on the cut to slow down the bleeding. I'm guessing that was you?"

Pierce blushed slightly. "Yeah. At least, at first it was just me. I used part of my shirt because I didn't have anything else to use, and I just put it against your head and held it as hard as I could. Then a couple seconds later your partner stood up from cuffing the guy and came over to you. He said your name and I told him you were unconscious. He knelt down on the other side of your head and I asked him to help me with the pressure. He put his hands down and pushed, and then his face just kind of went . . . blank. Looking back now, I think that was probably the first chance he got to actually process what had happened and it scared the hell out of him."

"Goren doesn't get scared," she said, attempting to shake her head. "At least, not that kind of scared, the kind that makes you freeze."

"Well, he did a good imitation of it, then. He just kept staring down at your face. I think he started whispering a prayer or something like that. Then when the medics got there to take over, your captain had to help him stand back up, I'm not sure why. Then they loaded you onto the stretcher, and they went." He took a sip of his coffee and looked back up at her. "That's where I leave the story, so I can't really tell you anything that happened after that."

She swallowed, then nodded. "I understand. Thank you so much for doing this, for telling me."

"No problem. I'm really relieved to see that you're basically all right. Do you have any idea when they're going to let you out of here?"

"Nowhere _near _soon enough. Just before you came in, I was begging Deakins to get me out today."

"Uh, if you'll excuse my saying so, you don't look like they've put you completely back together yet."

She sighed. "That's basically what he said. Listen, come back anytime, if you feel like visiting, ok? I'm bored out of my skull in here."

"Sure, uh, Alex." He started to reach out a hand to her, then stopped and said self-consciously, "I guess you're not really up to a handshake yet, huh?"

"One day soon," she said with a smile. "God, I'm tired."

"I'll leave you alone then. It's been nice meeting you."

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Ten minutes after Tom Pierce left Alex's room, a nurse entered the visitor's lounge down the hall and shook the shoulder of a dark-haired man asleep in his chair. "Detective?"

Goren blinked, then looked up at her. "Is she ok?"

"She's asleep. I know you asked me to tell you when she was . . ."

He stood up with a grimace, hating the bruises that covered his torso from his impact with the table a few days ago. "Thank you. You're sure she's out?"

"Yes. She had a visitor who stayed and talked to her for a long time, and once he left she was out like a light."

"Ok, good." Running a hand through his hair nervously, he went to take advantage of the few minutes a day he allowed himself to see her. The minutes when he couldn't look into her eyes and see blame.


	4. Nightmares

_She was surrounded by a congregation of doctors, nurses, and scrub-clad technicians. They lifted her, still strapped to the backboard, cleanly off the stretcher and onto the bed. She was semi-conscious, and she refused to release his hand during the transfer. He ended up standing by her head, trying to make himself as small as possible as what seemed like dozens of hands attacked her body, cleaning, probing, and evaluating._

_The sight of blood had never fazed Goren, but he knew that having to look at her blood leak out of her for much longer would change that. The wound just kept bleeding, no matter how much direct pressure they applied. His hands were dripping with her blood and he felt it burning into his skin as though it were boiling water._

_He squeezed her hand, but received no answering squeeze in return._

_"She complained of a stabbing pain and trouble breathing?" the doctor asked one of the paramedics. "Punctured lung. Might be the beginning of a hemothorax, too, with all those busted ribs." He turned to a nurse. "How's the head?"_

_"Clotting, slowly. She'd going to need at least another unit of blood, though. Pressure's still well below 100."_

_"Make sure you get the bleeding stopped, then let's get CT scans of the head and the chest." He bent down toward Alex's face and smiled. "Detective Eames? How do you feel?"_

_She held her breath for a second, then let it out with a shudder. "Hurts. Neck."_

_The doctor looked at Goren with raised eyebrows. No one had mentioned a neck injury to him._

_"He tried to . . ." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "He tried to strangle her, but it only lasted a few seconds." _

_The doctor stared at him, his eyes wide. "You allowed someone to get his hands around your partner's neck? You didn't protect her? Were you too worried about saving yourself, Detective, or did you just think she wasn't worth it? After all, she's so small, she can't be much use when it comes to police work."_

_"No!" he cried, recoiling from the cruel faces that suddenly surrounded him. "I tried to help her!"_

_The doctor sneered at him. "Well obviously you didn't try hard enough. She's dead, and it's your fault!"_

Goren woke up from the nightmare with a hoarse cry at the same point he always did. He hadn't yet been forced to look at her dead body in the dream, and he desperately hoped that he never would. He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

"Bobby!" Deakins said from just behind him. "For the love of god, go home and get some sleep on an actual bed."

He picked his head up off of his arms and looked around, taking in the squad room full of faces watching him. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, for the third time since the attack six days ago, and drifted into the same nightmare he'd been having every time he allowed himself to doze.

"You're not doing you or your partner any good like his, Goren. If you're going to work, you need to sleep, but I still don't understand why won't you just take a few days off and let your arm start to heal."

He shook his head. "No, I can't. I have to . . . there's work to be . . . done and Eames, I don't want her to come back to a backlog of cases . . ."

"Look, you know she isn't going to be back any time soon. They won't even let her out of bed, let alone let her start walking or working. You've got plenty of breathing room when it comes to catching up on work. I'm giving you an order: get out of here. I don't want you back until next week, possibly not even then. And if you won't go home, why don't you go see her? She asks me about you every time I'm in there."

He stared at Deakins, alarmed. "What do you tell her?"

"I've been giving her dumb excuses about you being covered in paperwork and deep in cases, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. It wasn't your fault, Bobby. She doesn't blame you. Just go see her, please. For the sake of all of us who have to work with you, if not her sake."

He just shook his head as he stood to put on his coat. "I can't. Not yet," he said sadly as he walked toward the elevators.

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_He followed the stretcher into the ambulance on shaky legs, trying to absorb what had happened in the past few minutes. His partner lay on white linens that were rapidly being turned red by her blood. So much blood; how could such a little body possibly hold that much?_

_"Move," the male paramedic ordered, pushing him toward the front of the ambulance's box. "We need to work on her."_

_The paramedics slapped an oxygen mask over her face, obscuring her mouth and nose. One of them put a blood pressure cuff on her arm; it had to be wrapped nearly twice to get it to fit tight enough on her slim arm. The second medic pulled out a device that looked like a large Gameboy, with a wire leading to a clip_ _the man slid onto her finger._

_Goren watched in silence as they began to shout out numbers and abbreviations to each other:_

_"I've got sixty over forty, we need to get more fluid in her!"_

_"SpO is at ninety-two; turn the oxygen up to fifteen."_

_"She's got PERL-no-R. Tell them they're going to need a CT."_

_"Detective Eames? Can you hear me?"_

_The woman on the stretcher uttered a tiny gasp, sounding as though she couldn't get enough air in to make a proper one._

_"Detective, are you having trouble breathing?"_

_Her eyes widened above the oxygen mask and she seemed to be trying to nod. Surely the mask was too big for her, he thought distractedly; it covered part of her eyes as well as her mouth and nose._

_"Buh . . ." she forced out, then struggled to pull in another breath. "Buhb . . ."_

_The medic looked up at where Goren stood, horrified. "I think she's asking for you, sir. You can hold her hand, but keep your body away from the stretcher." He looked back at his partner. "Do a rapid assessment. They're going to want to know about the head trauma."_

_"Right." The female put her fingertips against Eames's head and began pressing gently. There was a sudden increase in the flow of blood from her temple. "Shit! Put some whole blood in her, this isn't stopping!"_

_"Detective Eames, try to stay calm, ok?"_

_He thought that sounded utterly absurd to say to a woman lying on a stretcher, bleeding her life away and unable to draw in a breath._

_"She's really struggling, Brad," the female medic said. "Start bagging her."_

_The man pulled out a football-shaped apparatus that he attached to the oxygen mask and began squeezing._

_Goren recognized that football-thing. It had been part of the CPR class they'd had to take; it was used to force air into a patient's lungs when they couldn't breathe on their own._

_She wasn't breathing. He'd killed her._

He shot up in bed, breathing hard. His heart was pounding and he was clammy with sweat. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this, reliving the terrible details of that day over and over. The nightmares had been coming nearly every night in the two weeks since Alex had been injured. Sometimes they came twice in one night. He didn't think he could deal with them much longer and still remain able to function.

He rubbed at his scratchy eyes and looked at the clock. Seven in the morning, time to get up anyway. Not that he'd be allowed into work; Deakins had issued a direct order a few days ago that Goren was to have the week off no matter what excuses he tried to use. But still, it made him feel slightly more in control to keep getting up at his regular time. It made him feel like maybe one day things would be normal again.

He rolled out of bed and barely managed to land on his feet. His bruises had begun to heal in the weeks since the attack, but he almost wished they'd stayed. Bruises were something real, tangible. Something he could concentrate on. Instead, he was left with just an aching wrist encased in a cast and an excruciating pain in his heart every time he thought of what had almost happened. What he had caused to almost happen.

All his fault. If he hadn't pushed the suspect, he wouldn't have snapped and none of this would ever have happened. If he'd been on his toes, reacted quicker, he could have taken the guy down before he got with ten feet of Eames. But he hadn't been. He'd been slow and heavy-handed, and now they were both paying the price.

She was supposed to be discharged from the hospital today, but he wouldn't be there. He couldn't do it, simply couldn't face her after seeing her accusing face over and over in his dreams. He'd asked Deakins to call him when she was safely settled at home, claiming that his wrist was too painful for him to go to see her, but his unsympathetic boss had snorted into the phone and told him that he had a still-full bottle of pain medication he'd been sent home from the hospital with. "Face it, Goren. You're going to see her today, whether you like it or not. I'm sick of you moping around, when she's the one who got hurt."

As if he needed to be reminded of that.

Alex, hurt.

Alex, dead.

All his fault.


	5. Homecoming

A/N: I'm totally blocked on Spilled Blood, so you guys get another chapter of this instead :)

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Alex gritted her teeth against the pain as Deakins helped her into his car. Her ribs were taped tightly, which the doctor claimed was supposed to help, but when her ribs weren't screaming, her head or the surgical incision in her chest was. All the same, she was determined to get the out of the hospital today, so there was no way in hell that she was letting out a sound.

"Alex," he said as he got behind the wheel, "I know I promised to stick with you today, but I'm in a mad dash to get back to One PP. Is there anything you're going to need in the next few hours that you don't already have with you?" Not waiting for her response, he pulled out into traffic a little too quickly.

"Uh, no, I guess not. I have my assortment of drugs, I have clothes . . . Wait, you're going to take me back with you?" she said with sudden excitement. "Because if that's what you mean, I am seriously considering kissing you right now."

"What would my wife think?" he teased. "And that's not exactly what I meant. I was thinking more along the lines of dropping you off at Bobby's apartment. It's on the way."

She blinked. "Ok, there are a number of things wrong with that idea, but to start with the simplest, his place is _not _on the way to work."

"I was hoping you'd be too drugged to notice that," he said, not bothering to argue the point.

She groaned. "Drop me off anywhere you want. Drop me off in the middle of Times Square, if you must. Just do not drop me off with him!"

"He's your partner, Alex. If I can't trust him with you, who can I trust?"

"That's not what I mean. It's just . . . he doesn't want to have to deal with me. Don't force him into it."

Deakins let out an astonished laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm way too tired to kid, Captain."

"Well, you're wrong. He's been worried sick about you."

"He didn't visit me the whole time I was in the hospital," she said. "That doesn't strike me as 'worried sick'."

"You're not the only one who's been having a hard time lately. He won't talk to anyone about it, but I'm pretty sure he blames himself for what happened. I think he's afraid to see you and find out that you might agree."

"What?" she said, shocked. "You've got to be . . . it wasn't his fault!"

"You know that, Alex, and I know that, but I've had zero luck convincing him, so now its your turn. Just let him take care of you for the day; it'll give him something to keep his mind busy."

"Captain . . ."

"Look, Eames," he said as he pulled up in front of Goren's building, "the worst that can happen is you tell him you're tired and play possum until I can come get you at quitting time."

She sighed, knowing he was right. "Fine. But I'm going to remember this the next time someone asks me how nice a boss you are."

"Hey, I don't know about you, but I have this thing about partners having to be able to at least face each other. Sit tight, I'm gonna call up and get him down here."

Goren was sitting, staring sightlessly into the depths of his fourth cup of coffee of the day, when his buzzer rang. He jumped, caught himself before he managed to spill the hot liquid, and scolded himself for being so clumsy. Then he went to the intercom. "Yes?"

"Goren, it's Deakins. Would you mind coming down here and getting your partner?"

"My . . . excuse me?" he said, thinking he'd misheard over the old intercom equipment.

"Your _partner_, Bobby. 'Bout five-foot-two, blonde, lots of broken bones?"

Why had Deakins brought her here? He knew Bobby couldn't face her! "But I . . ."

"No buts. I've got to drop her off with someone, and you're it. Now pretend you have manners and get down here and help her upstairs!"

Alex looked at Deakins in surprise as he turned back to her. "A little heavy-handed, don't you think? I told you he didn't want me."

"You want a new partner?" he challenged.

"No!"

"Then be quiet and make nice with him."

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"Hi," Alex said in a near-whisper as Goren appeared through the door of his building.

"Hi." He hung back for a second, trying to judge her condition before approaching her. "Uh, how do you feel?"

Well, at least he was speaking to her, she thought. "I'm ok. Sorry about this . . . I didn't know he was going to bring me here."

The depression which had momentarily lifted when he saw her returned and settled back on his shoulders. She hadn't wanted to see him; he should have expected that. "It's ok," he said lamely. "Uh, can you walk on your own, or do you need me to . . .?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "I can handle it, if you take my suitcase." She prayed she could stay on her feet long enough to get to his apartment; she really didn't want the humiliation of having to have him support her or, worse, carry her.

"Sure." Goren glanced over at Deakins, who was simply leaning against his car and watching them. "You can head back, sir. She'll be ok from here."

Deakins nodded. "Make sure she stays that way," he said shortly, sliding into the drivers seat. "It'll be fine, Eames," he called back to her, just before slamming the door.

Goren picked up her suitcase and turned back to her. "What did he mean by that?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's go." All she had to do, she told herself, was walk to the elevator, stand still while it rose to Bobby's floor, and then walk to his apartment door. She could handle that . . . couldn't she?

He unlocked the building door and held it open for her, watching with concern as she gingerly climbed up the steps. "You can't walk, Eames," he said as he shut the door behind them and pressed the button to call the elevator.

"Yes, I can. It's just . . . my ribs pull if I stand up straight."

He studied her face for a moment, then tried to take her arm. "At least let me give you a hand."

"No!" She pulled away from him too quickly, and found herself a few feet away from him, digging her nails into her hands to try to hold back the hot pain in her side. If he touched her, it would somehow make this more real. It would bring her back to reality, and she'd find herself either screaming or crying.

Goren watched as a procession of emotions crossed her face. There was a tiny flash of something that might have been gratitude, but that was immediately covered by fear, which was replaced by a look he would have labeled "tearful" if there had been tears in her eyes. "I was just offering . . ."

His words stopped as her face changed again, this time into a look of impatient stubbornness, and she said tightly, "I know. I'm just . . . not feeling up to being personable today." _And I'm standing here with the guy who got hurt because of me, and he's acting like he's the one who owes me something_, she thought.

He sighed heavily and told himself to accept it. "Ok. Well, uh, here's the elevator." He put a hand against the doors, forcing them to stay open while she made her way into the car. The pained look on her face made the knife that had been in his gut since the attack twist a little deeper.

She shuffled into the elevator and leaned back against the wall, trying to muffle her sigh of relief. She'd made it halfway. She could do this.

They rode in thick silence to his floor, where he repeated his actions, holding the doors open while she shuffled out of the elevator and into the hallway.

He stayed beside her, expecting her strength to run out with every tentative step she took, as they made their way toward his apartment, but she kept herself upright until they reached his door and he found himself proud of her persistence.

She took the opportunity to lean on the wall while he dug out his keys, trying to make it look casual.

He pushed the door open and preceded her in, kicking a wayward shoe out of the path as he went. "Come on in."

"Thank you." Even her voice sounded tired, she thought disgustedly as she forced herself to walk into just about the last place she wanted to be.

"You're tired." It wasn't a question; he didn't need to be a genius to notice her weak voice and lagging steps.

"A little," she admitted. "Is it ok if I crash on your couch?"

"No."

She looked up at him, taken aback. "Why not?"

"Because I have a perfectly good bed, and that's what you're going to use while you're here." He started to reach for her arm to direct her, but caught himself and just pointed, instead. "Through there."

Normally, she would have refused the gesture, knowing that if she took his bed he'd have to scrunch himself onto the couch, but today she knew that she had only enough energy to argue _or_ walk herself to the bedroom - not both. After a moment's hesitation, she straightened her body as much as she could and followed him into the bedroom.

His bed was unmade, as it usually was on non-work days, and he wondered if now she would think he was a slob. Stopping just into the door, he turned to her and said, "I can, uh, change the sheets for you. I would have done it before, but I didn't know -"

"You don't have any strange diseases," she cut him off, stepping around him. "I'm way too tired to worry about whether your sheets are sparkling clean right now. Just need to lie down."

He watched her try to do a sort of roll to get herself onto the bed, watched her freeze when the movement sent pain through her body. "Stay still," he ordered, moving closer. "I'll help you up."

"I can -"

"Obviously, you can't. Just accept the help for once, ok?"

If she didn't, there was no way she was getting herself onto that bed without passing out from pain. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth.

He stood next to her, looking thoughtful, for a second. "Which parts of you are safe to touch?" Damn, that had sounded bad. He tried not to groan.

"Pretty much anything from the waist down is fine. Also my arms, but only below my shoulders."

He nodded. "So hips are ok? How about if I just lift you up a few inches so you can get your, uh, butt up there, and then you can do the rest yourself?"

"Yeah, I guess that'll work." She added this moment to her mental list of _Things I would never, ever do or say if I wasn't thirty seconds from falling asleep standing up _while Goren gave her a boost and, true to his word, released her once she was sitting on the bed. "Thanks," she mumbled as she slid the rest of her body onto the mattress and reached for a big down comforter that looked like heaven.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm good. Just turn out the light, would you?"

"Sure." He hit the light switch and left the room, closing the door about halfway behind him.


	6. Tea and talk

_She couldn't get out the scream. He was holding her against the wall, his body against hers, crushing all the air from her lungs. Her head cracked into something behind her, setting off fireworks behind her eyelids, and she felt warm blood running down her face._

_She heard a yell, in a voice she recognized. She forced her eyes to open and found herself suspended off the ground by the man's hand around her throat. That didn't matter. She was alive, that was all she needed for the moment._

_She felt terror when she saw his face appear over the shoulder of the bad man. She tried to scream, to warn him. He was her partner, it was her duty to protect him. She couldn't let him be hurt. How would she live if he died? The bad man laughed and took his hand from around her throat, allowing her to fall to the ground. _

_She slid down the wall, staring up at them, watching as he attacked the bad man. They fought . . . it seemed like hours . . . and then there was an explosion of red. A knife. A knife, in him. He fell beside her, eyes open but unfocused._

_She couldn't breathe. There was red on the edges of her vision, and when she looked down there was a sea of red all around her. So she was bleeding, too. That didn't matter now. She looked back to him, silently begging him to look at her, to reassure her, but he said nothing. A trickle of blood ran from his mouth and joined the pool her own blood was forming on the floor._

_She finally screamed._

"Alex!" a voice said urgently.

She could feel herself shaking violently. She didn't want to open her eyes and see the red, the pools of red, the open, blank eyes . . .

"Alex!" the voice said again, this time accompanied by a touch to her face. "Open your eyes. You're dreaming."

For a long second, she couldn't breathe. Tears of fear and anguish formed in her eyes. Then she was shaken, hard, and there was a bolt of pain, real pain that cut through her flesh.

"Alex! Jesus, wake up!"

Her eyes flew open. It was him, and he was talking to her. He was alive. There was no blood. She tried to raise a hand to touch him, but agony exploded in her chest. She shuddered and tried to curl herself into a ball.

"Alex," he said, more quietly now. "Look at me. You were dreaming. Everything's ok." God, she was trembling, shaking harder than he would have thought possible. "Everything's ok," he said again, pulling her into a sitting position and supporting her shoulders with one arm while using his casted arm to cradle her head.

She closed her eyes again, trying to control the trembling. When she opened them again, she was looking right into his face. "They're still open . . ." she breathed.

"What's open?"

She shuddered again. "Your eyes, they're open. I . . . You're alive. I dream he killed you . . ." A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in his shoulder. "He killed you."

She'd had a nightmare about him being killed? Why, when she was the one who'd nearly died? "He didn't kill me," he said into her hair. "I'm here, alive. It was a nightmare, that's all."

She was finally getting her breathing under control. She took in a deep breath, then let it out, and raised her head to look at him. "I'm so sorry. I . . . did I scream and scare you?"

"You scared the living daylights out of me. I don't think I've ever heard someone scream like that, not even my mother when she's bad."

Shaking her head, she said, "I kept trying to scream and warn you . . . but I couldn't . . . and it wasn't until you were d-dead on the floor and I saw your blood that I could . . ."

"No," he said softly, pulling her into an awkward sideways hug. "I'm not dead, and there's no blood on me"_ None of mine, anyway. Plenty of yours. _Her dreams sounded as frightening as his. He tried to think of how he'd like to be comforted if someone woke him out of one. "Would you like some tea?"

She blinked. "Tea?"

"Yeah. I could make you a cup, and then by the time you finish drinking it, the nightmare will be far enough away that it . . . won't come back." It had worked for him some nights; it was the best solution he had come up with so far.

She thought about that, then nodded. "Yeah, but . . . can I come with you while you make it?"

"Still not sure I'm not lying about being alive?" he teased gently. "Of course you can come. Feel up to walking?"

"I . . . if you help me, I think."

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Ten minutes later, she sat stiffly at his kitchen table, a steaming mug between her hands. "I hate nightmares."

"Everyone does," he said, taking a sip from his mug. "Do you want to, uh, talk abut it?" Why was he asking this? Was he going to sit and listen to her describe his own worst nightmare, knowing all her pain was his fault?

She shook her head. "No. It . . . it's a little too ugly to relive, even consciously. But could I ask you something?"

"Uh . . . it depends on what it is. I'll try to answer if I can."

"It's not anything big," she said before taking a sip of her tea. "It's just something someone mentioned while I was in the hospital."

"Ok, well, ask away."

"Deakins brought a guy to see me - the young guy who started first aid on me as soon as everyone got in the room, his name is Tom Pierce. He told me basically what happened, but there was something . . . he was telling me about what you did, and how you helped him with the direct pressure . . ."

"I thought you already knew that."

"I did. But what he said that got my attention was that when you put your hands down to, uh, help with my head . . . he said your face went blank and you looked like it 'scared the living hell out of you'."

"It did." He had no problem admitting that; he had thought it was obvious to begin with.

"I was wondering what went through your head."

"Then? When I was on the floor with you?"

"Yes."

He stared down at his mug, trying to think of what to say. How much should he tell her? How truthful did he need to be?

"Bobby?" she prompted.

"I, uh . . . I remember thinking that there was so much blood, all over, and it had all come from you. And you were so pale, and I could barely feel your pulse . . ." He paused, closing his eyes against both the memory and her reaction. "And then I knew that it was my fault you were lying there, and your blood was all over my hands, and if you died I'd never be able to get it off." He stopped and swallowed, realizing that his hands had begun to shake against the sides of the mug.

She watched his confession, wide-eyed, frightened by the strength of his reaction. "Bobby . . ."

He carefully pushed the mug away and stood up. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to . . . Deakins shouldn't have brought you here."

"You didn't want to have to deal with me? Is that what you were going to say?"

"No. I was going to say that I didn't want to see your face when you looked at me and realized that I . . . caused this," he said flatly, leaning against the counter.

So Deakins had been right, she thought. Goren blamed himself for the attack. "Tell my why you think it was your fault," she urged. "Because from where I sit, I'm the one who didn't do anything to prevent it."

He stared at her. "What? You were being held up against a wall by a guy twice your size. There's nothing you could have done."

She shook her head. "Before that. I could have moved faster. If I had just gotten out of his way, maybe took him down, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be hurt."

"You moved as fast as you could. He was too close for you to avoid."

"So what, it's your fault?" she said skeptically. "What did you do wrong?"

His eyes quickly moved away from her and focused on the wall behind her head. "I pushed him too far with my questions. I should have read him better and seen that he wasn't really submissive."

"And what would that have solved?" she said, drinking the last of her tea. "We still would have had to question him, and if he had the rage stored up it was bound to come out at a time when he was stressed, no matter how you phrased the questions."

"No, if I had seen it I could have played his friend, sweet-talked it out of him."

She didn't say anything for a second, then she tried to stand up from the table. "Give me a hand?" she asked with clenched teeth as the pain assaulted her when she was halfway there.

He went to her, putting an arm around her waist to help her up; she surprised him by turning into him and putting her arms around his waist when she was on her feet, her head resting against his chest.

"Stop blaming yourself," she said into his shirt. "You did everything right. You pulled him off me when I couldn't defend myself. You're the reason I'm _not _dead."

"You don't understand. I could have . . ."

She leaned her head back to look him in the face. "Are you trying to say there's something you could have done to protect me that you just didn't bother to do? Because I know how you operate, and I'm not buying that. You did everything you possibly could."

"I didn't -"

"Bobby, would you please listen to me? If there was something you didn't do, it was because there wasn't time, it wasn't physically possible, or it didn't occur to you. None of those things are your fault. Now, I'm willing to take my own advice and accept that maybe I couldn't have moved any faster, either, if you'll just believe me on this."

"It's different. You were injured, you couldn't do anything."

She sighed. "If I could raise my arms above my head right now, I'd grab your chin and force you to look at me while I say this one more time: you. did. everything. you. could. I don't need to have been conscious to know that." Putting her head against him again, she took a deep breath and let it out. "I think I'd like to go back to sleep, if that's ok. The tea seems to have done the trick, I'm about ready to pass out on you right here."

He considered arguing his point some more while he helped her, but a look at her pinched face told him that it probably wouldn't get through to her anyway. "Sure. You need all the sleep you can get."

"You look just as tired as me, now that I think about it. There's enough room on the bed for two of us, if you want to try to nap too," she said, motioning to the king-sized bed as they approached it.

He thought about that: a nap, with her nearby as living proof that he hadn't killed her, on his own bed. Maybe the nightmares wouldn't come this time . . .

"I think I might take you up on that. But don't be afraid to kick me if I roll over and hurt your ribs or something." He lifted her onto the bed as he had done a few hours ago, then walked around to the other side and lay down.

"Bobby?" she asked quietly, moving a little closer to him and laying her head on his outstretched arm.

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you ever come to the hospital to see me?"

"I did. You just didn't see me," he said gently. "Now, go to sleep."


	7. Reverse

A/N: Sorry for the delay, my imagination seems to be running dry at the moment. I'm doing my best to kick-start it!

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He was back in the ambulance...

_"I've got sixty over forty, we need to get more fluid in her!"_

_"SpO is at ninety-two; turn the oxygen up to fifteen."_

_"She's got PERL-no-R. Tell them they're going to need a CT."_

_"Detective Eames? Can you hear me?"_

_The woman on the stretcher uttered a tiny gasp, sounding as though she couldn't get enough air in to make a proper one._

_"Detective, are you having trouble breathing?"_

_She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. Her gaze was steady and accusing and he could feel the hate radiating from the stretcher where she lay. "You," she gasped with her last breath. "This is all because of you, B-"_

"Bobby!" she tried again, pushing frantically at his shoulder. "Wake up, come on." He had been tossing and turning for close to ten minutes, and she was becoming frightened just from watching him suffer the nightmare. She shifted closer so she could put her arms around him. "Bobby!"

Her voice had never seemed this real in his previous dreams. What was going on? He slowly forced his eyes open. "Eames?"

_Figures_, she thought. _I wake him up at his most vulnerable moment, and he calls me by my last name. _Out loud, she said only, "Yes. You were having a nightmare."

He blinked, remembering. "Jesus, this one was worse than the rest."

"What rest?" she asked.

"Uh, I've . . ." He paused, looking down at her and frowning. She was lying pressed against him, warm and soft, and that wasn't safe for either of them when his defenses were down, as they currently were. "Didn't we fall asleep on different sides of the bed?"

She immediately took her arms from around him and moved away. "Sorry. You scared me. I was trying to wake you up." With a sigh, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. "You want to do the tea thing again?"

"Not particularly. I just need to get up and do some work or something," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"I thought you said Deakins wasn't letting you work this week," she said.

"There's still work I can do at home, and it's a lot less likely to make me break out in a cold sweat than sleeping is."

"When was the last time you slept more than an hour at a stretch? Not counting just now."

"I, uh . . . it's been a while. But I'm still functional, nothing to worry about."

"Uh-huh. Functional."

"I am."

She cocked her head to the side and studied him for a second. It was beginning to look like guilt might be the only way to get him to do what was good for himself. "But I'm not. This, right now, was the first stretch of sleep I've had with no nightmares in . . . days. Maybe weeks. It helps me to have you here."

"I'll still be in the apartment. Right outside the bedroom."

"And are you going to come in here and wake me up when I have another nightmare about you lying next to me, dead? Your blood mixing with mine on the floor?"

He couldn't suppress a shudder. "Don't."

"Answer me, Bobby. Is that what you want, for me to not be able to sleep either?"

Rather than responding right away, he put two fingers against the side of her neck and was silent for a few seconds before ordering, "Calm down."

"Excuse me?"

"Your pulse is racing. That's not good; you're still replenishing your blood supply."

She sighed in exasperation. "Well, then stop arguing with me! Lay down on the freaking bed!"

"I can't."

"Oh?" she said with a look that said _yeah, right. "_And why can't you?"

"I . . . I might start thrashing around if I start dreaming again, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Well, then just lie here with me. Don't fall asleep." She knew he wouldn't be able to fight the drowsiness once his head was back on the pillow. "Come on, you only have to put up with me for a few more hours before Deakins comes to take me home."

"He's taking you home? Alone? And leaving you there?"

"Is there something wrong with me being home alone? Besides, that wasn't my point."

"What's _wrong_ wit- . . . Eames, you nearly died two weeks ago! You can hardly move now! You can't stay alone."

She sighed. "Deakins has a wife and kids to take care of, it's not like he can move in with me. If I stayed with my parents I'd be living on the couch, which is a lot less comfortable than I want to be right now. What, you're going to volunteer to be my nursemaid? Come on!"

"But I could!" he blurted out. "I mean, I don't have any other obligations that would prevent it."

She snorted. "Bull. You've barely managed to deal with me for, what, four hours today? And you're going to stay with me for the next week or more? _Not _happening."

"What does this have to do with me not sleeping?"

"Absolutely nothing. You're the one who changed the subject.

He took a moment to consider his conversational options. Discussing her living conditions of the next few weeks would be a lot less traumatizing than discussing his unrelenting nightmares. "Well, I'd like to get the issue resolved and make sure you're being taken care of."

"I can take care of myself, Bobby. Been doing it for twenty-odd years, and I'm going to keep doing it."

He stood up, towering over her in the way he did to people without even realizing it. "You weren't living with four broken ribs and a head wound for those twenty-odd years."

"I'll get by. I always have." She pushed her hair behind her ears. "Look, I'm still tired. I'm going back to sleep. Stay with me or go, whatever you want." With that, she turned away from him and laid her head on the pillow. Her breathing evened out within seconds.

Bobby simply sat in an armchair and watched her sleep for a while, standing up every now and then to check her breathing and color more closely. Each time, he would put his fingers gently on her wrist to take her pulse, then bend close to listen to her breathing; each time she was perfectly fine and he told himself he was an idiot to sit and stare at her. Each time, he returned to his vigil rather than going to do the work he had told her he was so eager to do.

Just when he was beginning to think he was truly an idiot for feeling like he needed to watch her, she began to toss and turn. A small moan escaped her throat and her body tensed. He jumped up and went to her, putting a hand on her arm and feeling her muscles tighten. She was dreaming again.

He ran his hand all the way up her arm to her shoulder, gripping it gently, and felt her restlessness subside after a second. _Interesting_, he thought. _I wonder if it's . . . _He removed his hand and watched as she whimpered and turned her head on the pillow, looking like she was unconsciously seeking something. Replacing his hand, he tried not to feel elated as she immediately quieted. He looked down at her for a long moment, realizing that she hadn't been lying when she said that his presence helped keep her nightmares away.

Knowing that he'd probably regret it but that it would help her, he cautiously stretched out between her and the edge of the bed, sliding his good arm under her head and draping the other lightly over her hip to hold her to him.

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He was just dozing off again after soothing her out of her third bad dream in an hour when his buzzer echoed through the apartment. Both of them started, his arms reflexively tightening around her.

"Ow!" she yelped as his squeeze put pressure on her ribs. "What the . . .?"

"Sorry." He released her and slid off the bed. "Buzzer. What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Five forty-two. Must be Deakins, come to retrieve me." Shifting so that she was sitting on the side of the bed with her legs dangling, she held out a hand. "Help me up?"

He took her hand and pulled obediently, but said, "I still don't think you should be left alone."

"Then go hire a nurse for me. In the meantime, I'll be taking care of myself."

"Alex . . ."

"Oh," she exclaimed in sarcastic surprise, "_now _you call me 'Alex'! Now, when you're trying to get me to do what you want. Not happening, buddy."

"I -"

"You going to get my suitcase, or do I need to carry it myself?"

He muttered, "I'm getting it," and snatched the suitcase off the chair.

"Good. Then stop arguing and follow me downstairs." She was happy to find that the sleep had restored her somewhat, and she really felt like she could make it out to Deakins's car under her own power. _Take that, Mr. You-can't-take-care-of-yourself_, she thought.

Gritting his teeth, Goren followed her out of the apartment, into the elevator, and out the front door.

"Hey!" Deakins said with a grin when they emerged. "You're both still alive! What'd I tell you, Eames?"

She just sighed and shook her head. "Can we skip the object lesson? Please? I just want to get home."

"Uh, sure." Glancing at Goren, whose face revealed nothing, he picked up her suitcase and dropped it into the backseat. "Ready when you are," he told her as he slid into the driver's seat.

She nodded silently and carefully eased herself into the passenger's seat.

"Everything ok?" he asked her when she'd closed the door behind her.

"More or less," she said with a shrug. "You were right about him blaming himself."

"I hope you set him straight."

"I tried, at least." She sighed. "Couldn't tell if he really believed me or not, though."

He patted her hand. "It's a start. Still, you guys looked a little iffy back there."

"Yeah, well, he moved from self-recrimination to overprotectiveness, which is a real pain in the ass."

"Ah. Well, you'll forgive me if I tell you that after what happened, it's not too bad an idea to be protective of you."

Alex just groaned.


	8. Reunited

A/N: I basically have no f-ing clue where I'm going with this story. I'm open to suggestions (please!) from you guys...

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She waved goodbye to Deakins, closed her apartment door, and turned around to lean against it. Home was so comforting, even with two weeks worth of dust covering everything. She gave her suitcase a kick, moving it from just inside the door to the edge of her kitchen wall, and walked deeper into the apartment with a sigh.

Everything was still in its place. She knew her mother had come by a few days ago and re-stocked her fridge and changed her sheets, and she was thankful for it, since it removed two tasks she wasn't sure she could do alone. Making a mental note to call home and thank her mother explicitly, she shuffled into the kitchen to take stock of her supplies. She was now the proud owner of eggs, bread, and a fresh gallon of milk, as well as two boxes of cereal, three of pasta, and a large jar of spaghetti sauce. Her freezer held two pints of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Therapy - thank you, Mom! - and a number of TV dinners.Good, she had more than enough food to get by for a few days until she was up to going shopping on her own.

With a sigh, she opened one of the TV dinners and slid it into the microwave, swallowed a painkiller, and went to take stock of the rest of the apartment. Her bed had been made with sheets she didn't recognize, and when she pulled back the comforter she found a note from her mother saying that she had bought the satin sheets so Alex could rest more comfortably on her injured skin.

She folded the note and set it aside, wondering if it had occurred to her mother that satin sheets weren't usually associated with "rest" in the first place. All the same, they did feel wonderfully cool and smooth, and she decided that the second she finished the TV dinner, she was taking a long, luxurious nap.

As if on cue, the microwave beeped. She flipped the comforter back over her pillows and headed for the kitchen and the tray holding a rather unappetizing serving of salisbury steak. She decided to stand at the counter to eat, rather than try to fold herself into a chair and end up hurting her ribs again.

It turned out not to matter much, because she managed only a few bites before she felt uncomfortably full. Probably had something to do with her poor choice of food, she mused, but it was too late to worry about that now. Time for a nap.

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Sitting in his kitchen the next morning, Bobby hung up the phone for the third time. He'd been calling his partner since he woke up an hour ago, and had succeeded only in leaving three increasingly agitated messages on her voice mail. He knew she was supposed to be home, since Deakins had called the previous night and told him she'd made it there safely, and even allowing for the fact that she might be asleep, it wasn't normal for her to not answer a ringing phone. He waited a few minutes and dialed again, leaving one more message, then decided that there had to be something wrong.

Half an hour later, he unlocked the door to her apartment using the spare key she'd given him years ago, and slowly walked into the room. Nothing appeared out of place, other than her suitcase, which was leaning against a wall, looking like she'd kicked it across the room - which she probably had.

Her kitchen was more interesting; he found a half-eaten, congealed TV dinner on the counter, next to a bottle of painkillers with the top screwed on wrong. Obviously she was either too tired or in too much pain to be concerned with cleaning things up right away.

He moved on to her bedroom, which he'd never seen before, and was relieved to find an Alex-sized lump under the covers. After a few seconds, the lump moved and emitted a whimper, and he realized that she was probably dreaming again.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, a bedspring creaking as the bed dipped under his weight. He sat there for a moment, debating whether to wake her or not, and then he leaned forward and lightly brushed her hair out of her face. "Alex," he whispered, not trying to wake her so much as provide comfort to her unconscious. "He can't hurt you."

A quiet moan escaped her and he cupped her cheek in his palm. "He can't hurt you," he repeated. "He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Her eyes snapped open and she stared up at him, paralyzed for a second. "Bobby?"

He smiled. "Yeah. You were dreaming again."

She blinked. "Aren't I back at home?"

"You didn't answer your phone. I got worried and came to check on you."

"Oh."

He stood up. "Have you been asleep since you got home yesterday?"

"Uh . . . I think so. More or less. I ate something first and I took a pill. You didn't need to come."

He shrugged. "It's not like I have anything to do for the next week other than bug you. You hungry?"

"Huh?"

"I checked your kitchen," he said. "It looked like you ate all of two bites of that TV dinner. So I figure you're probably hungry. I can make you something to eat, uh, if you want."

Her stomach growled at the mention of food and she gave him a sheepish smile. "I guess my stomach likes that idea. But you don't have to cook for me; I can do it."

He was beginning get the hand of dealing with her - it clearly wasn't a good idea to tell her she was too sick or injured to do something - so he just nodded and said, "You can supervise, how's that? Let me do the grunt work so you don't tire yourself out."

She sighed and said, "Ok." Her bed was lower than Goren's, and, thankfully, she was able to get out of it without having to ask him for help.

"You didn't even bother to change?" he asked as she stood up.

She looked down at herself. "Guess not."

"Well, get yourself into some fresh clothes before you come out to the kitchen. You, uh . . . can you dress yourself?"

"Mostly," she said, refusing to look at him. "That is, I can manage."

He wished he hadn't asked. "Well, you can, uh, call me if you need help. I'm serious," he said when she shook her head slightly. "I don't want you trying to do something you can't and hurting yourself again."

"I can dress myself," she growled.

_Stubborn woman, _he thought. _She'd probably rather break another rib than ask for help_. "If you say so," he told her, deciding that he was just going to have to humor her. "Any preferences for what to eat?"

"Nothing big," she said as she began to sort through her closet for something she could put on. "Soup or toast or something."

He stared at her back for a second, waiting for her to turn around, but when she didn't, he just sighed. "Sure. See you in a few minutes."


	9. Scars

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed and provided suggestions for the last chapter! I think I've got a thin thread of a storyline started now...

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In the kitchen, Bobby opened a can of soup as quietly as he could, listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom. He heard hangers clicking together for a few minutes as she shoved things around in her closet, then the hollow thudof a hanger hitting either the closet or bedroom door. "Eames? You ok?" he called, reminding himself that she wouldn't appreciate him knocking on the door to check on her.

"Just fine!" she yelled back, glaring at the tank top that she had just flung over a lamp shade. If she came across one more shirt that she couldn't get on, she was going to scream!

Not feeling very comforted by her reply, he reluctantly turned back to the pot of soup that was warming on the stove, giving it a few stirs to keep it from burning

_She may be stubborn, _he reminded himself, _but she's not stupid. If she thinks she really can't do it without hurting herself, she'll ask for help. _Yeah, right. He wondered how well-healed the incision from her surgery was. Were the stitches in danger of breaking? "Alex-" he started again.

"Yeah?" she said from the doorway, startling him.

With the spoon still in his hand, he whirled around to face her, splattering droplets of tomato soup across her chest. He studied her for a few seconds, confused. "Uh . . . isn't that mine?" he finally asked, gesturing to the blue chambray shirt that almost reached her knees.

"Yeah, and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one who washes the soup out of it now," she said, dabbing at the stains with a dish towel. When he continued to look at her, she sighed. "I can't lift my arms up to pull a shirt over my head, and this is the only button-down one I could find. You left it here a few weeks ago when you changed after a case."

"Is it clean?"

"Does it matter? It's this or nothing." She didn't add, _And I know you don't want me in nothing_, but holding it back took effort.

He turned back to the soup, looking down into the pot as if it held the answers to everything. "You can't wear one of my dirty shirts. It's . . . dirty."

"Stop it, your dazzling intellect is blinding me," she said dryly, walking up behind him. "Tomato?"

"Yes," he said without looking at her. "How are your stitches?"

"Huh?"

"Your stitches," he repeated. "From the operation. How much have they healed?"

"They're fine. When's the soup going to be done?"

"Five minutes and don't ignore my question."

"I wasn't ignoring it. It just didn't fit into the conversation," she said, reaching around him to hold a hand over the pot so she could feel how much heat the soup was radiating.

"Well, what's the answer?" he said, trying to ignore where she was pressed against his side to reach the stove.

"They're fine. You eating too?"

"If you don't mind, yeah. How 'fine' are they?"

"Fine enough that you don't need to worry about them," she said over her shoulder as she moved to the opposite counter and reached for the cabinet she kept her bowls in. An "ow!" escaped her as her ribs protested the movement. She quickly dropped her arms and turned to put her back against the counter as she tried to get rid of the shooting pain in her side.

"What?" he said, remembering to put down the spoon this time before he turned to face her.

She shook her head and . "Nothing. I just wasn't thinking and I reached too far for the bowls."

"Hurt yourself?"

"Not really."

"Liar. How bad did it hurt?" he said, taking a step toward her with the intention of evaluating her ribs.

"I'm fine," she insisted, tensing slightly.

He took another step and began to reach for her. "Let me look -"

"No!" she cried, closing her eyes and pressing back against the counter.

She didn't sound annoyed with him, he realized. She sounded alarmed. He stopped short. "Alex? Look at me."

She kept her eyes closed and just shook her head. "No. Please just . . . back up."

He obeyed, moving back a large step as he tried to absorb the fact that . . . "Are you scared of me?"

She opened her eyes slightly as she sensed his movement away. "No. I mean, not . . . of you. You're just, uh, overwhelming."

He wanted to kick himself for not having foreseen this. "I backed you up against a wall," he said softly.

"Yes."

He moved back to the stove, glad that he could look at the soup and keep his face turned away from her. If she looked at him, she'd see how much her reaction had unsettled him, and that was the last thing he needed her to worry about at the moment. "I'm sorry. I'll stay over here."

She nodded. "It's . . . stupid. It's not _you_, honestly."

"It's ok, Eames. I understand."

He probably did, at least partially, she decided. Goren had always had a talent for getting into people's heads, although this was the first time she detected him in hers. "I'm sorry. You -"

"I'm too big," he acknowledged emotionlessly, cutting off her explanation.

"No, it's not that. It's just . . ."

"It's fine, Eames. Drop it."

Back to calling her by her last name, she thought. He was obviously hurt by her fear, and he was making it clear that he didn't want to talk about it. With a sigh, she decided to do as he asked and let the subject drop. "Is the soup done?"

"Yes. Where are your bowls?"

She pointed to the cabinet over her shoulder and then moved away from it.

"I'm not going to jump on you," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Alex froze where she stood, in front of the refrigerator. "I know you're not," she said quietly after a second. "I said I was sorry."

He ground the heel of his hand into his forehead, unable to believe he'd actually let that slip out. "You don't need to apologize. None of this is your fault."

"It's -"

"Go sit in the other room," he said as he pulled a bowl out of the cabinet. "I'll bring you your food."

"Bobby . . ."

"Just go."

With one last look at him, searching his face for some hint of his feelings, she went.

Bobby watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then allowed himself to sag against the counter. It was bad enough to know that the attack had been his fault to begin with, but now to find out that she was actually _scared _of him . . .

He didn't know how to handle this. Bobby Goren simply did not scare people unless he intentionally set out to scare them. He knew that she probably wasn't actually afraid he would attack her as the suspect had done; she knew him better than that. But if the emotional scars the attack had clearly left her with remained as close to the surface as they were today, he didn't know how she could continue to work with him. Their line of work was too dependent on trust to work with someone you feared, even unconsciously.

When would she tell him that? He should be prepared, have a response already composed, so that she didn't have to realize the wound she was inflicting. No, he couldn't think about that now. He'd need to be alone to do that. Right now, he just needed to focus on her.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he picked up the bowl he'd filled, set it on a plate, and moved toward the living room, where he assumed she'd gone.

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When she left Bobby in the kitchen, Alex walked through the living room without stopping, retreating into her room and quietly closing the door behind her. The burst of adrenaline that her fear had sent through her was beginning to fade, leaving her shaky, weak, and angry at herself. Trying to forget the terrible feeling the encounter with her partner had given in her, she sank down on the bed and buried her face in the satin-covered pillows.

Why had she reacted the way she had? She'd never been scared of him in the slightest, even after the attack, until today, when he had unknowingly reenacted the attack itself.

It wasn't him, she thought. It was her. Bobby didn't scare her, no matter what his size - it was being trapped between a man and a wall that had terrified her. Why hadn't she been able to explain that? Her sudden distress had probably scared him as much as he had scared her.

It didn't take much psychological insight to know that he had probably added her fear to the list of things he blamed himself for. He'd be trying to think of what he could have done differently, or maybe just worrying about what damage he might have inflicted on her.

So why didn't she get up and go to him, try to explain again? Make him feel better?

She slipped under the covers and closed her eyes. She couldn't go out there because she was still scared. Even though her conscious mind knew without a doubt that he meant no harm and never would, she was afraid of how she'd react if he put her in that situation again.

Or if someone else did. How did a cop continue working when she became irrationally terrified any time someone came too close?

She didn't want to think about that. She couldn't think about that now, not with her head still spinning from the events of a few minutes ago. Maybe she should humor herself, stay here in bed until she could calm down. She didn't want to hurt him again.

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Bobby stared at the closed bedroom door, trying to decide what to do. He needed to get her to eat, if nothing else, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb her again. He didn't want to see what might appear in her eyes.

But still, she needed to eat and take another painkiller, he thought, looking down at the food and medicine in his hands. He would just put them down outside the door, he decided.

"Eames," he said, knocking lightly on the door. "I'm going to leave your soup and your painkillers outside the door and then go. You can call me if you need anyth-"

"No!" she called from behind the door, struggling to disentangle herself from the sheets. She couldn't let him leave, not feeling as she knew he did. "Stay there."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I, uh . . . you don't need to be stressed any more than you are."

She bit her lip. "Just stay there for a minute, ok? I'm going to . . . come out." _Or at least try. _She needed to prove to both him and herself that it wasn't him she was frightened of. Slowly, fighting against her own mind, she reached for the doorknob and turned it, pulling the door open a bit.

Her food was on the floor to the side of the doorway . . . and Bobby was halfway out the front door of her apartment. "Hey!" she called sharply. "Come back here."

He shook his head. "You can't . . . I don't think . . ."

"Come here," she repeated. "We're going to try an experiment."

He gave her a wary look, but stepped back inside and closed the door. "What kind of experiment?"

"Just stay where you are," she ordered, walking closer. "And don't make any fast movements."

Bobby winced. She sounded like she was talking to a criminal holding a gun, not her partner. Still, he stayed put, looking around at the narrow entryway he was occupying and then at her as she advanced on him. "Alex . . ."

"Just don't move." Taking a deep breath, she took another step, placing herself within his reach and waiting to see if she was assaulted by fear.

When a few seconds had passed and all she felt was the anxiety of waiting to be scared, she allowed herself to relax a little. "It's not you," she told him.

He held out a hand to stop her. "You don't know -"

"It's not," she repeated, moving closer. "It was having my back against the wall, not having you in front of me."

"I'm -"

Another step. Her body was almost touching his now, and still no fear. She looked up at him and grinned. "See? It's not you."

He stared down at her, waiting for the fear to set in, waiting for her to bolt. When he had counted silently to ten and she was still standing there, smiling up at him, he finally relaxed a little, leaning back against the door. "You're sure?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I? Honestly, Bobby," she said, raising an arm as high as she could lift it in an attempt to touch his face, "I'm not scared of you. I would have to be insane to be scared of you, to think you'd ever purposely hurt me - damnit!" she interrupted herself as her ribs protested her movement before she'd gotten her hand above his neck.

He tensed again. "What's wrong?"

"Can't lift my arm," she grumbled, letting the arm in question rest against his shoulder. "I was going to try to be all sweet and reassuring and touch your face."

He blinked. "You were . . . excuse me?"

"Never mind. I guess I won't be up to sweet reassurances for another few days."

"Reassurance?"

She sighed. "You have no idea how much you looked like a puppy waiting to find out if it was going to kicked. You just . . . looked like you could use a little reassurance."

He lifted his own hand and touched hers where it lay against his shirt. "You're being reassuring already," he said after a second's thought. "But if you still want to touch my face, I can lift you up so you can reach."

She grinned. "It's really useful to be trying to reassure someone who could pick me up with one arm. Go ahead and lift."

He shoved aside the voice in his head that was screaming about how he couldn't possibly be dumber than to pick her up and bring her closer to him, and didn't he realize that if he kept her there more than a few seconds she'd notice what happened to him? That voice could wait. Right now, he wanted all the physical contact he could get, after seeing her run from him a few minutes ago.

"Bobby?" she said when he didn't move. "We gonna do this?"

"Oh, sorry." He looked down at her. "Your hips are ok, right?"

"Hips are fine. Just don't touch - whoa!" she broke off as he put his hands on her hips and lifted her before she was done talking, bringing her face even with his. "Hi," she said with a small smile as their eyes met.

"Hi. So, about that face touching . . .?"

Her smile got a little bigger. "Right," she said, pleased to find that she didn't feel even a twinge when she lifted her arm. "How's this?" she asked, resting her hand on his cheek.

It felt wonderful, he thought. In fact, he'd be quite happy to stay like this all day.

The languorous look that spread across his face told her all she needed to know, and she held back a giggle as she watched him turn his face more into her palm. The giggle died in her throat, though, when his hands relaxed slightly on her hips and she began to sink until his hands were just below her injured ribs, instead. She sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth at the pain, not wanting to break the moment. "Bobby!" she said after a second, realizing that it would only get worse if his hands moved up. "You're . . ."

It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about, then he wrapped first one arm and then the other around the tops of her thighs and hoisted her up a few inches.

Not wanting to be dropped again, she reflexively wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned her weight into him.

His hands wound up on a little lower than they'd started, supporting her butt. He resisted the urge to pull them back from that forbidden part of her anatomy. "Uh, sorry . . ."

"It's ok," she said. "Makes me feel less like I'm going to fall." She raised her hand back to his face. "Now, where was I?"

"You, uh," he began, moving his eyes away from where he'd been concentrating on her legs, "you . . ." His voice trailed off as he raised his head and found her face so close to his that he could feel the heat of her skin.

Their eyes locked and they stared at each other, not moving. Then she moved her hand from his cheek, sliding both arms around his neck. "Bobby . . ." she murmured, searching his eyes for some hint of what he wanted.

He moved his head forward a fraction of an inch and covered her lips with his.


	10. The chemistry of fear

A/N: Q, thank you so muchfor the comment about the ribs...if you couldn't tell, I've never broken one and was trying to fake it as I went along in here! I think I've taken it too far to change it back to her being in more pain, though, so we'll just have to count on suspension of disbelief for this one :)

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Her arms tightened convulsively around his neck and she sighed into his mouth as she kissed him back. His lips were so much softer than she would have expected, and she suddenly wondered what they'd feel like on other parts of her body . . .

When she began to respond to him, the little voice Bobby thought he'd tuned out increased its screaming tenfold, until he simply couldn't ignore its admonitions any longer. He broke the kiss and leaned his head back against the door, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, god." Did she have any idea what this was doing to him?

She used one of the hands she had behind his neck to push his head back toward her. "Not god. Alex," she corrected. "Stop thinking," she ordered quietly, moving her head forward so she could whisper it in his ear, which she then nipped playfully.

"I can't stop thinking," he groaned, almost glad that his hands were too busy supporting her to touch her. "We can't do this," he said after another second, with more force, changing his grip so he held her with one hand while the other tried to pry her legs from around him.

She stared at him for a few seconds, taking in the near-panicked expression on his face, and then dropped her legs voluntarily. Her ribs pulled as her arms, around his neck, had to support her for a few seconds, but she ignored the pain for the moment and quickly removed them too. Right now, his rejection was paining her more than her battered body. Something had obviously gone wrong with whatever plan he'd started with. "What was that?" she said harshly, wiping a hand across her mouth. "Your attempt to assuage your guilt about scaring me?"

He blinked. "No! Well, yes, but no!"

"Right." She turned away and walked toward the bedroom door where he'd left her soup. "I'm going to heat this up," she said as she picked up the bowl. "I don't care what you do, as long as it's not what you just did."

"Alex . . ."

"I don't like being manipulated, Bobby. Even if it turns out to be fun in the moment."

"I wasn't manipulating you at all!" he said as he followed her into the kitchen. "That wasn't . . . I wasn't . . ."

She jerked open the door of the microwave and slid the bowl in. "Stop talking. Quit while you're only slightly behind."

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him, careful to keep them in the middle of the room so she didn't feel cornered. "That was not manipulation," he hissed, leaning down so he was nose-to-nose with her. "And I didn't stop because I thought I'd made you feel better. I stopped because it's not right."

"What's not right? Kissing your partner? You really think you have to remind me of that?"

"That's a different issue," he said, releasing one of her shoulders so he could wave his hand dismissively. "I wasn't thinking about you being my partner. I was thinking about the fact that you're injured, on a narcotic medication, and in an extremely vulnerable mental state."

"A 'vulnerable mental state'?" she repeated, latching on to his last words. "Is that code for 'you're going nuts but I'm too polite to say it out loud'? Am I _unbalanced _now, Bobby?"

"No," he said with a sigh as he let go of her other shoulder. "It's code for 'you've had more than enough emotional upheavals in your life lately and you don't need one more'."

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm having a nice, big upheaval right now."

"All the more reason for me to make sure you don't have to deal with any more changes in your life. And you ignored my two other reasons."

"What, that I'm drugged?"

He nodded. "And . . . that you're physically not up to . . . uh, it."

She had no idea what to say to that one, which gave her more insight into his thoughts than he had probably intended. So he was afraid of hurting her, re-breaking a bone . . . fine, she could see how that would be a reason to put a stop to things for the moment. But to say she was too doped up, when he'd been here watching her and knew she was nothing of the sort . . . "Don't make excuses, ok?" she finally snapped, although she had to admit that her anger was slightly mitigated by his concern. "Even in my _vulnerable emotional state, _I'm not interested in your lies."

He sighed heavily and turned away from her, fist to his mouth as he tried to think of a way to make her understand. "I would have hurt you if I let things continue. In more ways than one. Think about how you'd feel once the fight-or-flight response from . . . before . . . had worn off and you found me here just ig-ignoring the fact that I knew - I know - that the chemistry of fear can mess with your head, big time."

She watched him as he paced the room, noticing that even in his distraction he was giving her a wide berth each time he passed her. The _chemistry of fear . . ._ it was a Bobby-like turn of phrase.

"Cortisol," he went on when she didn't reply. "And, and epinephrine. Norepinephrine. They stress your body and your brain . . . uh, rapid heartbeat, impaired reasoning . . . decreased control of emotions. Reduced sensitivity to pain. The brain, uh, releases a natural opiate, dulling the senses. And . . . and you're already on artificial opiates."

She knew she shouldn't be surprised by anything he came out with anymore, but it was still odd to have someone turn around and spout concrete facts to support their side of an emotional argument. "In other words, I'm currently irrational and unable to do what's best for myself?"

"Not entirely. Just . . . somewhat."

"Here," she said, thrusting out her arm, palm up. "Take my pulse."

"What?"

"Take my pulse. If I'm drowning in stress hormones, my heart should be racing, right? So come find out for yourself."

"Alex . . ."

"Do it, or I don't want to hear another word about how I can't know what's best for myself."

He sighed and put two fingers over her radial artery, counting silently. "Ninety-two."

"Normal, in other words."

"High normal."

"Normal, Bobby. Don't split hairs."

"Fine, normal. You're still on the Vicodin."

"And you're still looking for excuses," she retorted.

He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on her wall. "Isn't it about time for another dose, now that we're on the subject?"

She blinked, adjusting to the change of subject. "What, you planning to shove the pills down my throat and hit the road when they put me to sleep?"

Sometimes he really didn't like how observant she could be. "Uh, no."

"You were!" she exclaimed, reading the truth in his face. "That's the second time in an hour that you've tried to run away from me. If you don't want to be here, just say so."

He just looked at the floor, kicking at a dust bunny.

And then understanding began to dawn on her. "You're afraid it's going to happen again, aren't you? You're afraid that in five minutes, or half an hour, or an hour, you're going to forget all your well-reasoned arguments and go back to what you started out there," she said, pointing to the entryway where they'd stood a few minutes ago.

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes you are! This isn't all about me," she said with a snort. "It's about you, trying to haul ass out of here."

"I don't want to leave, Alex. I'm just . . . concerned about you."

"Well, don't be. I've got parents who are doing enough hand wringing for everyone, including you. Either stay here because you're my friend and you want to help me - that's 'help me,' not 'order me around' - or go home and mope there."

He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes and sighed. "If I stay, will you eat the soup and take the painkiller?"

The soup! She glanced at the microwave, which had long since gone dark and stopped turning. "Uh . . . I think the soup may be done for. But yes, I'll take the Vicodin."

He relaxed visibly. "I'll make you toast, just so you have something in your stomach along with the pills. Here," he added, holding the bottle out to her. "Take them."

She kept her position in the middle of the room and shook her head. "Bring the bottle to me."

"What?"

"Come on. This is a test of your willpower. Show me I was wrong when I said you were afraid." She gave him a smug smile. "I'm waiting."

"Alex -"

She tapped her foot and gave him an impatient look. "You going to do it, or are you chicken?"

He scowled and took a step toward her, holding out the bottle at arm's length.

She shook her head teasingly. "Coward."

"I'm not a . . . I'm just doing the smart thing!"

"You're scared of someone half your size, Bobby."

He growled something unintelligible and took a step closer, holding out the pill bottle again.

"Not good enough. Closer."

She was toying with him. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. What he _couldn't _pin down was exactly what her goal was in doing it. "Fine. Here," he said, moving close enough to shove the bottle into her hands, which he did.

She grinned. "You are _so _afraid of me! This is an interesting turn of events."

"I'm not -"

"Are too, or why else would you be trying so hard not to touch me, hmm?"

"Eames . . ."

She chucked the pill bottle at him. "Don't call me 'Eames'!"

He ducked and managed to grab the bottle with one hand as it went flying over his shoulder. "Why not? I've always called you that."

"You've been calling me 'Alex' most of the day. I like it. Keep doing it."

"Uh, ok. Sorry." He tried to hand the bottle back to her, but she kept her arms folded across her chest. "What now?"

"You still look like you don't trust . . . I'm not sure, either me or yourself."

"I trust . . ."

"Me? Then it must be yourself you don't trust. Which raises the interesting question of what you don't trust yourself not to do."

"You're an intelligent woman. I'd think you could figure it out for yourself."

She figured that was as close to an admission as she was going to get from him for the moment. "Fine. Give me the pills," she said, holding out a hand."

He shook two into her hand, muffling his sigh of relief.

"These are going to put me to sleep, you know, so I'm going to go get in bed. Can you bring me the toast when it's done?"

"Toast? In bed? You'll end up sleeping on crumbs," he protested.

She shrugged. "I'll be drugged enough not to care. So, will you bring it to me or do I need to wait around in here?"

"I'll bring it to you," he said, figuring it was easier to give in than fight about it.

"Thank you." She gave him one last smile, then turned and headed for her bedroom and those wonderful satin sheets.


	11. Paranoia

When he entered the room five minutes later, she was lying on her back under the sheets, counting the cracks in her ceiling, for lack of anything better to do. _The upstairs neighbors have really got to either move their bed or stop having so much sex_, she mused, _because if that crack gets any bigger, they're going to fall into my lap one night_.

"Ea - uh - Alex?" he said, walking closer. "You awake?"

"Yeah," she said, not bothering to move from her comfortable position. "Gimme."

He obediently held out the plate of toast; she reached over and grabbed a slice, then immediately dropped it back onto the plate. "Ew, what the . . ?" she exclaimed, turning her head to look at him and the offending toast. "Peanut butter?"

"It's protein. You can't just live on bread and soup while you recover."

"I don't have anything against peanut butter, but you could have warned me before I stuck my hand right into it," she groused, licking a glob off of her finger.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and handed the plate to her again. "You looked, uh, preoccupied with your ceiling. I didn't want to disturb your thoughts."

She picked up the slice of toast again, this time by the edges, and took a bite. "I was trying to figure out," she mumbled through the mouthful, then swallowed, "how long it would take for my upstairs neighbors to drop in on me, literally. Their bedroom's right above mine," she added by way of explanation.

He looked up and noticed the large crack. "That's not good. You should . . ."

"Nah. All I have to say about it at this point is that if they fall on top of me one night, I am _not _inviting them to stay for a drink."

How did one respond to a statement like that? He just shook his head tolerantly and stood up. "Are you getting tired yet?"

"Cool your jets, it's been all of five minutes since I took the pills. My digestive system doesn't work that fast. And," she said, waving her toast at him pointedly, "you only want me to go to sleep so you can escape."

He looked away from her. "I already explained this to you, Eames. It . . . it's basic biochemistry."

She crammed the last bite of toast into her mouth and glared at the side of his head while she chewed. Then, swallowing, she sat up and sighed. "Three points, _Goren_. One: didn't I tell you to stop calling me Eames? Humor a sick woman! Two: the phrase 'basic biochemistry' is an oxymoron for everyone except you, and maybe Stephen Hawking. Three: do I need to remind you of what's going to happen once I fall asleep with you nowhere nearby?"

He could counter her first two arguments, but she had a point with the third. Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked to the other side of the room and put his back to the wall, only then looking back at her again. "Fine, if you want to go the point-counterpoint route, we can do that. First: it's much easier to call you Alex at the times when I'm _not_ tempted to wring your neck. Second: there is, indeed, such a thing as basic biochemistry, just like there's basic criminal justice and basic, uh . . . food preparation. Third: I won't leave the apartment, how's that? I'll still be able to hear you if you dream."

"Food preparation?" she echoed with raised eyebrows.

"You put me on the spot," he said, shrugging. "I would have needed a few more seconds to come up with a better example."

She rolled her eyes. "Forgive me for not intuiting that." Then, glowering at him, she added, "I should know better than to try to use logic on you."

"You should," he agreed with a hint of amusement. "Are you tired yet?"

"No!" Picking up her now-empty plate, she added, "You know, if I didn't have a problem with breaking my own belongings, I'd throw this at you."

He stepped forward and plucked the plate out of her hand. "In that case, I think I'll take charge of this." He just smiled in response to her sour look and made his way out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Once there, he dropped the dirty plate in her sink, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to gather his wits.

He wouldn't be cruel enough to leave her to her nightmares; that was a given. But if he was going to stay with her without having anything happen that one of them would end up regretting, he needed a strategy.

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In the bedroom, Alex slid back under the covers and resumed staring at the ceiling, this time while contemplating what she was going to do with her partner, Mr. Enigma-wrapped-in-a-tall-dark-and-handsome-package.

Unlike Bobby, she would have no scruples about resuming their earlier activities. She had been enjoying herself before he put a stop to their kiss, and given that she didn't believe the drugs were impairing her judgment, she was pretty sure that was her talking, not the Vicodin. _He may be able to peek inside my head, _she thought, _but I'm the one who runs things in there. _

Besides, she really just didn't want him to leave her alone. The nightmares hadn't eased in the weeks since the attack, and the only times she'd had any relief from them was when he was physically in bed with her. But of course, he'd be paranoid about getting too close to her now, and she doubted if she'd even be able to talk him into the bedroom again without some strong persuasion.

Persuasion it would have to be, then. What could she do to convince him he wouldn't end up violating whatever weird principles he was operating off of?

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Fifteen minutes later, Bobby still wasn't happy with his situation, but he figured he'd been gone too long already, and if he didn't go back to her soon, she'd think he upped and died in her kitchen. So, with lagging steps and a furiously churning mind, he returned to her bedroom.

She was on her side, under the covers, and watched him through mostly-closed eyes as he tentatively approach the bed. "Well?" she said, startling him. "What's the decision?"

"Don't scare me like that! I thought you were asleep."

"Hah! You wish. Perfectly awake, thanks. Now tell me what you're going to do."

He reached down and touched the comforter as though testing its texture. "Have you ever heard of bundling?"

She blinked. "In a sense other than 'making bundles of something'?"

"Yes."

"No."

"It's a historic practice," he began, pulling the comforter down a little.

Alex groaned and turned over, knowing she was about to be treated to another encyclopedic lecture.

". . . in which two people of opposite sexes share a bed," he went on, ignoring her groan. "Both people remain clothed and there's a barrier placed between them, usually a board or a bolster. It's, uh, still fairly common among the Pensylvania Dutch."

She'd been prepared to tune him out, but this was a little too outlandish to be ignored. "You want to put a _board _between us?" she said, sitting up and staring at him. "What am I, a succubus? If I freak you out that much, I'll give you some blankets and you can sleep on the damn floor!"

He stiffened and turned away from her. "I wasn't suggesting a board. I was about to suggest pillows."

"Same difference, you still feel like you need a wall between us. Honestly, you're forty-four years old and you're telling me you can't control yourself for one little nap?" Her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, but she wanted this resolved before the drugs really kicked in.

Surprised by her attack, he turned back to her and faltered, "It's not a matter of . . ."

"Yes, it is," she cut him off. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I promise to push you off the bed if you start getting frisky."

He blinked and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Frisky?"

She grinned. "You got a better word? Now, are you staying or are you going?"

"Staying," he said with a sigh. "Maybe I can finally start catching up on my sleep, too."

". . . which was my point to begin with," she said archly. "We seem to be the only cures for each other's nightmares. Not sure what that says about the state of either of our psyches."

He pulled off a shoe and then twisted around to look at her. "It's a logical post-trauma reaction."

"Why's that?" she questioned, watching him take off his other shoe and reminding herself that he would probably have a nervous breakdown if she suggested he remove his shirt, too. "Well?" she prompted after a few seconds, flipping back the covers for him.

"Huh? Oh." He sat down on the bed, hesitated a second, and then slid under the covers as far away from her as he could get. "It's logical because it was a traumatic experience that you and I, and onlyyou and I, went through together."

"Hmm." She considered that for a second. "That would explain why I feel more comfortable talking to you about it than Deakins, but it still doesn't explain why you cure my bad dreams."

"Aren't you tired yet?" he sighed.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, actually, but I'm too busy arguing you out of your paranoia to fall asleep at the moment."

"I'm not paranoid."

"And just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you. Right. But really, what do you call being so distrustful of yourself that you can't bring yourself to get in a bed?"

"Right now, I'd call it 'preserving my sanity'."

"Hmph." She turned over so her back was facing him. "You keep preserving, then, and I'll sleep."

Giving the back of her head a dirty look, he mirrored her position, trying to make sure he didn't touch her.

"Bobby," she mumbled without turning over.

"What?"

"You're going to fall off the edge of the bed, and that's not supposed to happen until you pounce on me and I kick you. So move the hell over, will you?"

He hid a smile at her grouchiness and shifted a little closer to the center of the bed.

"Thank you," she said. "Now sleep."

Now that he was settled and slightly more relaxed, sleep sounded like a good idea to him. "Ok."

She took in a deep breath, let it out, and let her head sink into the pillows.


	12. Dreamscapes

_She's back in that room again. The gray walls, hard floor, huge mirror, all seem to mock her as she stands in the center of the room, knowing what's coming and yet unable to do anything about it._

_Then he appears, materializing in a corner with a sadistic grin on his face. "My hands are cuffed this time, Alex. I think I'll change things up a little bit..." he adds, stroking the side of her neck._

_...time breaks..._

_Then she's up against the wall and he's crushing her, killing her, and this time the chain between his handcuffs is across her throat, pressing with as much force as on the rest of his body_

_...time breaks..._

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_He sits at the table, that horrible, gray metal table, knowing what is about to happen but unable move to stop it. The world around him is frozen for a long moment, and he looks around him warily._

_He sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he twists his body toward it. There they are, both standing by the mirror but still unmoving. He tries to push his chair away from the table, to take advantage of this delay, but both chair and table seem glued to the floor. He can't budge either._

_Then there is suddenly action, and the table flips on top of him. He pushes it away as fast as he can, knowing that these are the few seconds that will make all the difference. Maybe this time it will be different, if he can move fast enough, if he can think quickly enough._

_He hears the crash of her body hitting the wall and catalogues in his head the sounds and images that will follow: the thud of her head against the wall. The crunch of many bones breaking at once. The gasping wheeze she tries to make . . ._

_Alex gasps and calls his name and he realizes that rather than moving swiftly, as he'd planned to do, he has been standing still next to the upturned table as if he were a spectator to the events taking place. He forces his feet into motion, feeling like he's walking through glue as he has to struggle with each step._

_He's moving so slowly._

_Too slowly._

_Still five feet from reaching them, he sees that two things are different this time: there is no blood streaming from her head, and now the man is strangling her with his belt instead. How could he have gotten it off and around her throat so quickly without Bobby knowing? He starts to move again., and this time the glue feels thinner, less adhesive._

_He watches her face redden from the pressure, then watches her lips take on a tinge of blue as the strangulation does its job. He's almost there. He can still save her. _

_He has to be able to save her. It's the only possible salvation for him._

_He lunges for the two figures with all his strength . . ._

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._..time breaks..._

_Suddenly the chain is pried away from her neck. She forces her eyes to open, searching for the cause of this reprieve, but she sees nothing other than the brutish face of her attacker looming above her._

_Then she knows he's here. She still can't see him, but she feels him, almost as if he's breathing quietly next to her. He's frightened, she senses, but not for himself. He's terrified for her. Terrified he won't be able to give her the help she needs. _

_And even through all the pain this attack is causing her, she feels a small spot of warmth somewhere inside her, where his concern for her gives her comfort._

_Now she can see him. He simply flickers into being between one second and the next, standing between her and the man. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her head into his shoulder, enveloping her body in his much larger one. He becomes a protective cocoon for her, and she tries to disappear into him._

_The man screams, in a rage at being denied his prey. He beats his handcuffs against Bobby's back, but Bobby simply lowers his head over hers and continues to protect her._

_Suddenly the man is gone and it's only them, staring at each other. He doesn't release her from his embrace, just runs one hand up her back until it's cradling her head and tells her, "You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore."_

_Safe . . ._

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Alex's eyes opened slowly this time, rather than flying open in the face of terror, as her other dreams had made them do. She could still feel herself shaking, but it was much less pronounced than it usually was.

Strangely enough, she wasn't afraid.

So she just lay still for a moment, trying to assess her situation. Home, bed . . . alone in the room with the man . . . handcuff chain . . . Bobby.

Bobby!

He was here, she realized. His body was curled around hers, one arm around her just above her hips, the other under her head as his head rested by her neck. She moved slightly and felt his lips make contact with the back of her neck.

_So much for all his good intentions_, she thought as the day's events began to come back to her. Of course, she had no intention of pointing this out to him. In fact, she just wasn't going to wake him up at all. He was protecting her in the dreams, and in reality his body enveloping hers made her feel equally safe. No way was she going to wake him up and lose that comfort.

Besides, he seemed to be resting peacefully, too. She wondered if she appeared as a savior in his dream the way he appeared in hers. She almost laughed at that, at the thought of trying to stretch her body to cover all of him at once, but she forced the laugh back for fear of waking him.

His lips brushed her neck again, this time with a little more pressure. _I could definitely get used to this_, she decided as she moved her head slightly forward to allow him better access. _And if this is the Vicodin talking, then they should be marketing the stuff as an alternative to Viagra!_

Allowing herself a quiet, contented sigh, she snuggled back against his body, dropped a gentle kiss on his casted hand, which lay next to her head, and closed her eyes again.

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_He knows that he's not supposed to change things. That's been the rule for all of the dreams; he can't change or stop the horror. He can't even close his eyes._

_Well fuck that, he decides as time freezes for all three of the people in the room while he's mid-lunge. He's willing to do almost anything to spare her the hurt and suffering he knows this attack will cause. Even if it doesn't follow dreamland rules, he's going to do it. _

_He has an advantage, he tells himself. He's witnessed this attack so many times, from so many angles, and at so many different speeds, that he knows exactly what types of movements the man will make and when._

_He just needs to get there in time._

_Time..._

_Time restarts and his feet hit the ground next to the attacker. He tackles the man with all his weight and all the force he can muster. The two men hit the ground together._

_There is a dull 'thunk' as the attacker's skull impacts the floor._

_Bobby stands, sparing only a second's look at the man who caused this. He looks to where he had seen her a few seconds ago and finds the top of her head. She's sunk to the ground, hand on her neck and struggling to suck in a breath. He crouches in front of her and watches for a moment._

_She'll be ok, he realizes. There is already a thick line of bruising circling her throat, and it will only get worse. But she's breathing._

_Now he can finally breathe too._

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Bobby returned to consciousness a few seconds before he decided to actually open his eyes. The terror the dreams brought him sometimes took a second to crash down on him after he woke up, and it was better to just wait for it.

But this dream had been . . . different. Completely different.

He'd saved her.

He opened his eyes and saw hair and bare skin in front of him. What . . .? He tried to remember. Alex's apartment . . . her fear, his reaction . . . their decision to nap together. He had fallen asleep at least a few feet away from her, he was sure of it.

Well, he certainly wasn't that far from her now. In fact, the distance between them could probably only be measured in a unit with an obscure Greek name that she'd make fun of him for knowing. He was wrapped around her . . . like a cocoon.

Where had that thought come from?

She felt soft. He moved his head slightly to the left and found himself looking at her neck right below the corner of her jaw. Her skin was paler than he'd realized and without thinking, he pressed his lips against it with the vague idea of testing its warmth.

She tasted good. How the hell could a neck taste good? He should move away - touching her might wake her up.

He didn't really want to move away. What was the harm in a little spooning, considering the fact that it seemed to be quite healthy for both of their sleeping habits?

He'd lay here a little longer, he decided. Then he'd worry about extricating himself from her body.

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He was awake. She could tell. She'd felt him kiss her jaw, then felt his shoulders tense up. She should consider her options before making any move to let him know she knew, she decided. So she relaxed slightly and rested her head more deeply into the pillow.

And began to think.


	13. Reckoning

A/N: Meh. I'm totally ambivalent about this chapter, but I figured I might as well put it up and see if you people like it better than I do

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When Bobby woke up again, he found himself on his back, staring at a dark room. Had they slept through the whole day? He moved to look at the clock but found himself immobilized by a weight that lay across him. Opening his eyes to investigate, he found that the the weight had hair.

Oh, no. This was not good.

Alex mumbled something in her sleep and shifted her head, which lay in the crook of his neck, then flung one of her arms over his shoulder.

He did a mental inventory of their body parts: her head rested between his right shoulder and his neck; his right hand lay entwined with her left on the pillow next to her head; her right arm and leg were thrown across his torso, so that she was lying half on him and half on the bed. Oh, and his left hand was resting on . . .

Oops. He pulled that hand away hastily, moving it up so he could touch her hair instead. _Soft, _he mused, rubbing a few strands between his fingers.

He shouldn't be doing this, he admonished himself. She was asleep, she had no idea that she was sprawled over him, and she certainly had no idea of the un-partnerly things that were going through his head.

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Alex hid a smile as she felt his hand jerk away and then move to touch her head. He was awake, and he was obviously thinking coherently enough to decide he shouldn't have had his hand on her behind. And yet he wasn't trying to get out from under her, even though he believed her to still be asleep.

Now _that _was interesting.

This could be fun.

How low were his defenses in the moments just after waking up? She didn't know, but she was about to find out. Keeping her eyes closed and faking sleep as best she could, she sighed and moved her head, which just happened to result in her nuzzling his neck. She felt him tense slightly beneath her, then relax as he seemed to decide that the contact was just by chance.

She shifted her weight, transferring a little more of her body onto his, and waited for a reaction. Within seconds, his hand was removed from her head and placed on her hip, where it applied gentle pressure to push her away. _You think you can get rid of me that easy? _she thought with a smirk. _In your dreams, Goren. _She resisted the pressure for a moment, then twitched her hips just enough so that what now lay under his hand was her butt rather than her hip.

The hand froze, then flexed experimentally. She let her lips brush his neck again as a reward and was amused when he sucked in a breath. _Gotcha. Now, what else can I . . ._

Eyes still closed, she sighed again and slid her head up from his shoulder until her cheek brushed his. His entire body tensed under her, but he still didn't try to push her away, and she wondered just how far he'd let her go before he put a stop to it.

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Bobby lay as still as he could, searching his head madly for a way out of this before things got out of his control. If he'd known she fidgeted so much in her sleep, he might have given serious thought to sleeping on the floor. Anything to avoid waking up to this kind of torture, he thought with gritted teeth as she shifted again and he felt her breath against his lips.

She was almost entirely on top of him, and as her body slid across his again he realized that if she woke up now, he was going to have to explain the biochemistry of more than just fear.

She sighed again and the hand she had on his shoulder drifted up the back of his neck and into his hair. He shivered.

He didn't see Alex smile into his cheek, but he felt the movement of her mouth. She was smiling? That had to mean she was . . . "Eames?"

She didn't move as she said, "What did I tell you about calling me Eames?"

He ignored that, more concerned with how much of behavior she had been conscious of. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough."

"How long is, uh, 'long enough'?"

She pulled her hand out of his and used it to prop up her head so she could look down at him. "Long enough to wonder how you're going to talk your way out of this one," she said with a small smile.

"Alex, I already explained to you that . . ."

"That what? It was the panic? It's been hours since that happened, and I feel more relaxed right now than I have in a long time. Or maybe you were going to say it was the drugs? It's been at least six hours since I took a painkiller. Most of it is out of my system. So what's your excuse this time?"

He sighed. "It's not right."

"Oh? Then what are you going to do to stop it?" she challenged, lowering her face closer to his and shifting her body weight slightly on top of him.

"Alex," he said through gritted teeth.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me why all of a sudden you're so eager for this," he said in a rough voice.

She stared at him. "I really don't know how you managed to produce an innocent sentence and make it sound dirty, but you just did."

"Uh, I didn't mean it to be, uh, dirty," he said hastily. "What I meant was that . . . up until a few weeks ago, you never had any interest in, uh, this."

"Well, did you?"

"I . . . well . . ."

"And yet you never threw me up against a wall and made sure I knew it. See, there's this thing called 'restraint' that some people have, wherein they don't spill their guts at the drop of a hat. You have no clue what was going through the back of my mind regarding you."

"So then why now?"

She was silent, looking at him wide-eyed for a long second. Then, with a bemused shake of her head, she slid off him and turned away, resting her head against the other pillow. "Either you're purposely playing dumb, or I've just been deluding myself. Which is it?"

"What?"

"If you really need to ask me, 'why now,' " she said, still not looking at him, "then we've got our signals crossed in a big way."

"It's just that it's a common coping mechanism for victims of emotional trauma -"

"Stop right there," she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. "I don't want to hear any more of your wisdom about how I'm reacting to the trauma. You don't always see things as clearly as you think you do, Bobby."

There was a long moment of silence, and then he said, "But I . . ."

"Are you deaf?" she snapped, interrupting him. "Because I thought I just told you to stop talking."

He sighed. "Alex."

"What?"

"Why are you so angry about this?"

She looked down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes. "Because you're making me feel like a yo-yo. When you're not busy dissecting everything, you seem interested, but when you take the time to think about it, suddenly you'd prefer to keep me at least ten feet away from you at all times." She shrugged and continued to study her toes, which looked like they could really use a pedicure. "I don't have a problem with finding out you're not interested, but I do have a problem with being held in limbo. So if you're afraid of hurting me, don't be. Just tell me."

He sat up and just looked at her for what felt like hours before letting out a heavy sigh and shrugging. "I'm not_ not _interested."

"Oh, that explains everything, thanks," she said sarcastically, turning and heading for the door. "Let me know when you're ready to stop hiding," she added, pausing in the doorway.

"I'm not hiding!" he said vehemently, standing up and moving closer to her. "But you're trying to force me to give you answers that I don't _have _yet."

She leaned against the wall and gave him a skeptical look. "Oh? And when _will _you have them?"

"I . . . don't know."

"Right," she said as if he'd just confirmed what she already knew. "Sorry, but I'm no good at waiting around for someone else to make a move."

"What exactly is it that you want to hear from me, Alex?" he asked softly, putting a hand on the wall on either side of her head and leaning forward. "I can't read you well when it comes to things like this."

She raised her eyes to his, trying to see a hint of his feelings in them but finding no clues. "I want you to tell me whether you'd want to pull away or not if I kissed you right now," she finally said, deciding that was the best she could do as far as immediacy went. "Not what you _would _do, but what you'd _want _to do."

He fell silent, trying to analyze his own feelings.

Alex allowed him five seconds, which she counted off in her head. Then, whispering, "Too slow," she put her arms around his neck, locked her hands together, and forced his head down to her level. "It's not a trick question, Bobby. All I need is a simple yes or no."

He reached one hand behind his head to try to break her grip. "I . . . there isn't a simple answer to that question," he said hopelessly.

"Don't give me that. You have the IQ of a genius, you never lack for dates . . . I think you can answer one little question." When he still didn't answer, she sighed resignedly. "Then you're going to have to make the decision for real," she murmured just before tipping her head up to kiss him.

As he watched her lips approach his, he considered trying to get out of this before it got started, but her arms were around him too tightly for him to just slip away. He knew once their lips met, he'd be down for the count. A goner. There just hadn't been enough time since they were in bed for him to rebuild the defenses that had allowed him to pull away earlier in the day.

Their lips met and Bobby was hit by a wave of vertigo that almost knocked him over. His hands slid from the wall to her shoulders and clutched them as though she were the one solid thing in this disorienting moment.

And then she took her arms from around his neck, stepped away, and looked at him expectantly. "Well?"


	14. Reminders

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds after she let go of him. "Huh?"

"I said, 'Well?'" Alex repeated, moving her hand to her ribs, which were beginning to protest the exertions of the past few minutes.

He seized on that movement as an escape route. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said with a grunt as she returned to the bed and sat down. "Would you please just answer my question for once?"

"You might have hurt yourself, Alex. You're not supposed to lift anything, and in the past few minutes you put enough pressure on my neck that I could have picked you up just by standing up straight. Let me look, ok?" He approached the bed slowly, and when she didn't protest, he knelt in front of her and reached for the hem of her shirt.

Alex put her hand on top of his and pushed it away until it rested on her knee. "You're not seeing anything under my clothes until you answer my question, buster."

"Can we please just set that issue aside for now?"

"No, we cannot, Bobby. We've been setting it aside for way too long now, and it hasn't gotten us anywhere."

He sat back on his haunches and studied her, searching for cracks in her armor but finding none. "Ask me the question again."

"What?"

"Ask me again. I'm not sure if I remember it correctly."

She rolled her eyes. "You are a _complete_ liar, but fine. Here it is again: I asked you to tell me whether, if I kissed you right now, you'd want to pull away."

He sighed and said so quickly that she almost couldn't missed it, "No. Now can I _please_ check your ribs?"

"You know, usually I make men work harder than just saying 'please' to get to second base," she muttered as he reached for her shirt again and started trying to open the bottom button.

"Huh?" he mumbled distractedly. "Can you take this off?"

"You . . . want me to take off my shirt? Here? Now? Getting me to strip requires more than a 'please' too, Goren."

"It'll be easier than having you hold it up."

"You," she said pointedly, pushing his hands away from her again, "are doing everything you can think of to avoid having to talk to me."

"Alex . . ."

"Don't 'Alex' me," she grumbled as she began unbuttoning her shirt. "When you're done poking at my ribs, you're not leaving this room until you explain yourself." She opened the buttons up to just beneath her breasts and pulled the two sides of the front apart. "There. Examine away."

Although the worst of it was covered by medical tape, the skin over her ribs was still a riot of colors that covered the entire spectrum from red to green to purple. He looked up at her. "Is this what they looked like this morning?"

She bent her neck awkwardly to try to see the area. "Uh, I think so. Although," she added, moving her hand to point to a red patch at the top of the mess, "this might be new. It's hard to tell."

"Hmm." He touched the area as gently as he could. "Hurt?"

His hands felt nice and warm. It was comforting, like having a heating pad on a pulled muscle. She sighed. "Not really."

"Give me a yes or no," he said, still focused on her abdomen.

She couldn't hold back the ironic laughter at that statement, but after a few seconds of giggling she stopped abruptly. "Ow. Ok, now it hurts."

"Did you forget you had a hole in your lung not too long ago?" He used her knees to push himself up to a standing position and looked down at her. "I told you you shouldn't insist on doing everything yourself."

"And I told you I wanted an explanation. We can't always get what we want, partner," she shot back, not bothering to re-button her shirt. After all, a stomach that was one big bruise wasn't about to inspire lust in anyone, even someone as quirky as Bobby Goren, and she didn't feel up to the effort buttoning the shirt would require, anyway.

"But you . . ."

"Enough, Bobby," she said with a sigh, laying back on the bed. "I'm fine. If I'd re-punctured my lung, trust me, we'd know it by now."

"Well, but you should really . . . When's your next doctor's appointment?"

"Mmm." She patted the bed next to her. "Lay down. Now that I'm down here, I don't think I can get up again, and I can't talk to you like this with you standing."

"Alex."

"Fine, don't. But then don't try to converse with me. Or investigate my ribs. Or do anything else that requires my cooperation."

Instead of lying down, he walked to the edge of the bed and leaned over to allow her to see his face. "I'm going to get your painkillers, ok? Then I'll come back and you can harass me."

She didn't respond, just closed her eyes and laid a hand over her sore ribs.

A few minutes later, he was back, as promised, with a glass of water and two pills. "Can you take these lying down?"

She muttered, "No," but didn't bother trying to sit up. She wasn't keen to cause herself any more pain than she already had today.

"Ok," he said calmly. She'd expected him to walk away and put down the the glass while he tried to coax her into sitting up to take them, but instead he transferred the Vicodin into the hand that was holding the water and slid his now-free arm under her shoulder, lifting her up to a sitting position. "Tell me if I hurt you."

She gritted her teeth as her ribs protested the movement, not having the heart to tell him that just about everything he'd done today had hurt her. "I'm fine."

"You're a bad liar, is what you are. Here," he said, handing her the pills and then the glass of water. "How long will they take to kick in?"

She shook her head, taking a deep breath as she tried to relax again after lifting the glass and handing it back to him. "Don't know."

If she was hurting so much that it was visible to him, he knew that it must be excruciating. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," she said quietly. "You should be heading home, anyway. You've been here all day, you must have stuff to do."

He stood up and walked around to her other side, then lay down next to her, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face toward him. "I'm under orders not to do work, my apartment is as clean as it's ever going to get, and my neighbor is keeping an eye on the place for me while I'm here. I'm not leaving, Alex. I even brought an overnight bag with me, so you can't send me home for new clothes."

Alex just sighed and looked at him dully. "Look, I'm not up to doing any more fencing with you, verbal or otherwise. I just want to stop hurting."

"I know," he said, loosing his grip on her chin but not releasing it entirely. "And the Vicodin will help with that. But is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

She paused, debating with herself, before saying, "Could you . . . put your hand on my ribs again? Your hands are really warm, and it felt good."

He blinked. He was almost inclined to think this was another of her tricks to get him to admit he wanted her, but one look at her face told him that she was too distracted by the pain to play with him. "I can do that. Do you want to get back under the covers? It's not too comfortable lying here with our legs dangling off the side of the bed."

"Ok. Yeah." Before he could try to help her, she half-slid, half-wiggled her way up to the pillows and then relaxed completely, letting her head fall onto them as she sucked in a pained breath.

"For god's sake, Alex, I'm sitting right here, I could have helped you," he scolded as he followed her up to the head of the bed. "Now, where do you want . . . uh, how should I . . ." he stammered, laying his head on the other pillow and holding out his hand tentatively.

Eyes closed, she took his hand and laid it on her abdomen, splayed out. "Just like that. Like I said, warm."

He turned on his side and propped his head on his free hand so he could watch her. "Have you tried a heating pad?"

"You're more interactive," she said without opening her eyes.

"I would hope so." His palm covered almost her entire abdomen, he noticed. She looked so fragile under his hand and he was amazed all over again that he hadn't lost her in the attack. "This helps?" he said quietly, stroking his thumb lightly over her skin.

She nodded against the pillow and inched a little closer to him. "Warm," she repeated, not needing to open her eyes to know he was now looking at her suspiciously because of her movement.

"Alex?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"Whatever it was you were about to ask me to do."

"I wasn't going to ask you to do anything," he protested. "I was just going to tell you that you scared the hell out of me."

"With my dreams? I know, you told me," she said, turning her face toward him but keeping her eyes closed.

He started to shake his head before he realized that she couldn't see it. "Not the dreams."

"Then what?" she asked, reluctantly opening her eyes.

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. "You looked so . . . small when you were lying there on the floor, after he dropped you."

"Bobby, as much as I might dislike it, I _am _small," she reminded him.

"No, you don't understand. You haven't been 'small' to me since the second week we worked together. You're as big as me unless I stop to think about it."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she sighed, allowing her heavy eyelids to drop closed again.

"It's just . . . the truth. But when you were bleeding, suddenly you looked so tiny . . . and you're never tiny. You're not a tiny person. That's what made me realize that you might die."

She forced her eyes open again so she could catch his. "Look at me, Goren." She thought her speech was starting to slur and she was pretty sure she was going to conk out any second, but she needed to reassure him first. "I'm alive. I'm hurt, but I'm healing. I'm not going to die. You can stop panicking, ok?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up, but just . . . my hand is as big as your whole waist, and it reminded me."

"Bobby . . ." She reached out to lay her hand on his cheek. "Don't apologize. It's your job to be concerned for me." He didn't look comforted, and before she could have second thoughts, she stretched her neck out an extra inch and kissed him gently before quickly pulling back. "I'm fine," she mumbled into the pillow just before she allowed sleep to pull her away.


	15. Binkies

Bobby lay there for something like fifteen minutes, sure that any second she was about to wake up, grin, and say _Gotcha!_. Once he decided she was really dead to the world, he spent a further hour continuing to skim his palm over her stomach, wondering if it was providing comfort even in her sleep. After that, when she had settled into a deep, motionless sleep, he began to let his mind wander.

_She looks so little, so damn delicate. Or maybe it's that I'm just so damn big. Maybe it's both. How is it that I can see her every day and never notice? _He slowly removed his hand from her abdomen and looked at the ugly bruises he had been covering up with his touch. He was mystified how she'd managed to get through so much of today before allowing the pain to take control. He wasn't sure if he'd have been able to do the same, in her position.

His blue shirt, way too big on her to begin with, was gaping open from being twisted up as she tossed and turned. Now that he thought about it, it also looked like it hadn't been washed since he'd worn it last. Had she said it was the only button-down shirt she could find? She had to have others; he'd seen her wear blouses to work, and she couldn't live in the same dirty shirt for a week. He reached over and gently pulled the shirt closed over her, then tentatively stood up, waiting to see if she stirred. When she didn't, he let out a breath and headed to her closet to look for more clothes she would be able to put on with her limited range of motion.

_Hmm. Her wardrobe is heavier on tank tops and fitted shirts than I realized_, he thought after a few minutes of searching. He'd found three button-down shirts, but all of them appeared to be tailored to fit tightly, which wouldn't help in her current state. How could the woman not have even _one _old shirt stolen from her father, or a boyfriend, or something? Every woman he'd ever dated had tried to commandeer pieces of his clothing, claiming that oversized men's clothes felt "so comforting."

Which brought him to the idea that he could lend Alex some of his clothes; she'd have no trouble getting in and out of his shirts, as evidenced by the one she was wearing now. But he'd have to go home to retrieve the clothes, and he couldn't leave her alone here.

He pulled out his phone, set it on the nightstand, and carefully began to close the buttons she'd left open on her shirt.

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"Uh, Bobby," Lewis said an hour later, "I'm not exactly a nurse, here. What if something . . ."

"She'll be fine," he interrupted as he shrugged on his coat. "She's stable; the worst that will happen is that she'll wake up needing another painkiller. Besides, I'm only running to my place and back."

"But . . ." Lewis glanced at the small form huddled on the bed, then back at his friend.

"You've been begging me for the past five years to give you an in with her," Bobby said over his shoulder as he opened the door. "You wanted it, you got it. I have my cell, call me if she needs me." Before Lewis could come up with a suitable reply to that, he was gone.

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_She stands against the wall, shaking, waiting for it to happen again. The room is empty except for her and the bad man, and he stands a few inches in front of her, grinning as if she's the Christmas present he always wanted._

_It begins..._

_She is slammed against the wall. She knows it's coming, but it's still impossible to brace for. Her ribs break and she feels her head impact the wall. Stars, pain, flashes of red behind her eyes._

_She waits for something to happen. He will drop her, or she will be rescued, or she will lose consciousness. Something always happens. Something always happens . . . now._

_"What are you waiting for, sweetheart?" he breathes into her face. "He's not here, my darling Alex." One of his hands rises to touch her cheek in a parody of an affectionate touch. Then he slaps her, hard._

_She feels herself falling, sliding down the wall, and he stands there watching her, laughing._

_She waits for Bobby. He'll come. He always comes._

_He'll come._

_The man kicks her in the ribs . . ._

Alex woke up with a shriek, her ribs on fire and her body frozen. She lay there, panting, trying to banish the nightmare. _It's not real, Alex. He can't hurt you, Bobby said so. _

"Alex!" A figure loomed in the doorway and she felt herself start breathing again. He was still here. He would comfort her. "Alex?"

The voice wasn't right. It wasn't Bobby. No one else could be in her apartment. This had to be part of the dream. She closed her eyes and tried to wish it away.

"Alex? Are you ok?" The voice came closer. "Alex?"

A tentative hand touched her shoulder and she stifled another scream. Her breathing hitched. "Detective Alex," the voice said, this time sounding slightly more confident. It sounded like the speaker was smiling. "Wake up. I think you had a nightmare."

_No shit, _she thought to herself. She took a deep breath, realizing that she only knew one person who put her title and her first name together like that, and opened her eyes. "Lewis?" she asked shakily.

"Hey, you're awake! You had me scared."

She blinked into the brightness. He must have turned on the light while she had her eyes closed. "Why are you here? I'm still in my apartment, right?" She felt panic beginning to rise again. Where the hell was Bobby?

"Yep, still your place. You ok?"

"Where's . . ."

"Bobby?" Lewis grinned. "He called me over here to babysit you while he ran home. He should be back soon; it's been almost an hour."

She shook her head and closed her eyes again. "He promised . . ." Without him here, she could feel the nightmare images rising again in her mind. The evil face, the rough hands around her neck . . . she sucked in a breath.

"Alex?"

She swallowed thickly and tried to keep breathing.

"Alex, are you ok?"

She hurt. Her ribs screamed and the light stabbed at her eyes, even through her closed eyelids.

Broken fan belts or rusted engines he could handle, but Lewis didn't do hysterical women. He backed out of the room and flipped open his phone.

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Bobby awkwardly opened his phone with one hand while attempting to parallel park outside Alex's building with the other. "Hello?"

"It's Lewis. Where are you?"

"What's wrong?" he blurted, knowing that his friend would only have called if he was needed.

"She, uh . . . I think she had a nightmare. I woke her up but she freaked out when she realized that you weren't here."

He felt the back bumper of his car tap the front of the Hummer behind him and muttered a curse. Whoever the car belonged to, they deserved the dent for driving a damned armored truck in the middle of the city; he had more important things on his mind than Alex's ostentatious neighbors. "Ok, just try to keep her calm. I'm parking now, I'll be up in a few minutes. Tell her that. Oh, and ask her if she needs another Vicodin. The bottle's on her nightstand."

"Uh . . . I'll try. Move your ass, Bobby; she's starting to freak meout."

"Yeah." He shut the phone without a goodbye and stuffed it in his pocket as he reached behind him for the bag of clothes he'd packed. A second later, he yanked the key out of the ignition and narrowly missed having his door sideswiped as he opened it too quickly into traffic. "Shit." He pulled back and waited for an opening in the line of cars passing him before he tried again.

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There was ominous silence when he entered her apartment a few minutes later. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he moved closer to Alex's bedroom, straining his ears for signs of life. Ten feet from the door, he began to hear her labored breathing and Lewis's attempt at a comforting voice coming from the other room.

"Alex!" Bobby called, quickening his step.

Lewis appeared in the doorway. "Finally! Get in here!" he hissed.

Bobby nodded and entered the room. "Alex?" he said quietly, dropping the bag on the floor and walking to the bed.

The woman in the bed shuddered, then hesitantly opened her eyes. "Bobby?"

He sat down and pushed her hair out of her face. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Where were you? I had the dream . . . and you weren't here . . ."

"I went home," he explained quietly. "I needed to get a few things for you."

"Uh, Bobby," Lewis spoke up from behind him. "If you two are good, I'm going to get going . . . I have the feeling she's in better hands with you anyway."

"Yeah, fine," he replied distractedly. "Thanks for coming. Alex, it's ok," he went on, forgetting about his friend as he slid his arms carefully around his partner and pulled her to him. "You're fine."

She shivered against his shoulder. "This is ridiculous."

"What is?"

"I'm a grown woman. I _know_ they're just nightmares! It's ridiculous that I wake up and flip out if you're not here like . . . like you're a binkie or something!"

He blinked. "A what?"

She choked on a weak laugh. "A kid's blanket, the kind they won't go anywhere without. Security blanket."

"I'm . . . your security blanket?"

He felt her smile against his neck as she raised her head. "For the moment, you seem to be, yeah. Is that a problem?"

"Nah. I guess it would be fair to say I've been using you as mine, too."

"Great," she said with a snort. "Instead of partners, we're co-binkies. What did you need to go home for so bad, anyway?"

"Oh," he said, looking over at the bag he had dropped when he entered the room. "I got you some clothes."

"Clothes for me? From yourplace?"

He shrugged, jostling her head. "I checked your closet. You don't have any other shirts that looked like you could put on without help, and you can't keep wearing my dirty one. So I grabbed a few more."

"What are you going to wear if I'm laying around wearing your shirts?"

"I packed some for me, too. I've got plenty. I brought you a pair of sweatpants, too. I didn't know if they'd stay on, but I figured right now you'd rather have clothes be too lose than too tight."

"Oh. Uh, thanks. I'll try them on later." She sighed. "My ribs hurt."

"You were probably thrashing around while you dreamed."

She sighed again and leaned back against his shoulder. "Probably. Are you going to stay now?"

"Of course. You still tired?"

She nodded.

"Want me to lay down with you?"

She nodded again, this time more vigorously. "I'm afraid I'll dream again."

"I'm at your disposal," he said, resting his cheek on top of her head. "Need help lying down?"

She shook her head. "I can . . ."

"Yeah right. Come on," he said, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he guided them both back onto the pillows. "Sleep. I'll be here."


	16. The hearing

The ringing of Alex's phone jolted Bobby awake a few hours later, and as he automatically looked to the woman lying next to him, he found himself amazed that he'd fallen asleep yet again after spending most of the day in dreamland already. Apparently Alex was a better sleeping pill than any drug.

To his further surprise, Alex didn't even stir at the shrill ringing in her ear. He let the phone ring twice more, giving her a chance to surface from her deep sleep, then sighed and, carefully extricating himself from her arms, sat up and reached for the phone himself. "Eames residence."

"Goren?" said Deakins's voice. "Isn't this . . . You're answering Eames's phone? Why?"

"She's, uh . . . well, for lack of a better phrase, she's dead to the world at the moment. Her ribs were giving her trouble, so she's been taking the painkillers as often as she can today."

"Is she going back to the doctor?"

"Eventually. I wasn't able to get her to tell me when her next appointment is before she conked out."

Deakins sighed. "How is she . . . otherwise?"

"Mentally? Emotionally?"

"Both."

Bobby considered how to explain her status to the captain without worrying him or making him suspicious. "When she's awake, she's more or less ok, except for insisting on overdoing just about everything I let her do. She's . . . nervous about being in any position where she doesn't have an escape route, but she recognizes the irrationality of it."

"What does 'nervous' translate to, for those of us who aren't psychologists?" Deakins asked warily.

"Nothing . . . uh, really, it's just . . . she froze when I happened to block her way out of a corner, that's all. Then she asked me to back up, and once I did she was more or less back to normal." That was a bit of an exaggeration - Alex hadn't been 'back to normal' for quite a while afterward - but she'd kill him if he told Deakins that.

"Oh. How's she sleeping?"

_Now, that's a very good question, _Bobby thought. _How IS she sleeping? How do I explain to our boss that she can only sleep if I'm in bed with her, and vice versa? "_She's . . . sleeping," he managed cautiously. "She has nightmares, but I consider that fairly normal."

"What about you, Goren? How are _you _sleeping? It can't be easy to be taking care of her for a whole day."

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that she had turned over; he wondered if she'd wake up with a new patch of bruising from that movement. "I'm fine, Captain. I'm really just keeping her company more than I'm taking care of her."

"Let me guess: she won't let you do anything for her."

He thought about that. "She let me make her lunch."

"And is that the only thing she didn't insist on doing herself?"

"I guess. I'm fine here with her, though. I don't mind; it gives me something to keep busy with."

"Uh-huh. Are you the same guy who practically begged me to not make you see her a day or so ago?"

He sighed. "You don't need me to answer that. Anyway, she and I are both fine, we haven't killed each other, and so far I've managed to keep her from injuring herself any more . . . was there anything else you needed to know?"

There was a pause, and then, "Can she go out in public?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can she walk, I mean? Stand, wear something other than a nightgown, stuff like that."

"Uh . . ." He looked back at her and tried to examine her critically. "Yes, but she'd need someone with her in case she gets tired or tries to do too much. Why?"

"Steven Brewer's making a court appearance to appeal his bail. I want both of you there for the judge to see."

Bobby sucked in his breath. "Sir, I don't know if . . ."

"I know," Deakins interrupted. "Having to face the guy who almost killed her isn't exactly going to help with her nightmares, but right now I have to be more concerned with what will happen if he gets his bail reduced than with whether Alex is going to miss a few more hours of sleep. Long-term danger versus short-term discomfort."

"I understand, but . . ."

"The hearing's tomorrow morning, at nine. Can you bring her?"

"Well, I guess, but she's . . . she'll have to wear clothes that usually aren't acceptable for court."

"Not acceptable, how?"

"She can't wear anything that constricts her ribs and she can't raise her arms to pull anything over her head, so something like sweatpants and one of . . . her father's old dress shirts."

"Those are fine," Deakins said dismissively. "I'll give Carver a heads-up about it. It'll help make the point about how badly she was injured. And yes," he went on before Bobby could speak, "I know how calculating that sounds, but right now, I'm willing to be calculating to keep this guy behind bars where he belongs."

He could understand that sentiment, Bobby thought. In fact, right along with Deakins, he'd be willing to do just about anything to keep Steven Brewer out of commission. "Yes, sir. Do you want us to meet you at the courthouse?"

"Yeah. Look for either me or Carver in the lobby; I don't know about him, but I want to get a good look at you guys before I let you anywhere near that bastard."

"Ok," Bobby said, hiding his reluctance. "We'll see you in the morning, then."

"Good. Oh, and Goren?"

"Yes?"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

"I will, sir. Goodnight."

He hung up the phone and lay back down, turning to face her. "Alex?" he said quietly, putting a hand on her arm. Unsurprisingly, she didn't stir, and he tried giving her arm a hesitant shake. "Eames?"

Her eyes blinked open, then closed, then partially open again. "Wha?" she mumbled into the pillow.

"Wake up for a few minutes for me and then you can go back to sleep, ok? That was Deakins on the phone."

Her eyes opened wider. "Deakins? Why?"

"Brewer's making a court appearance in the morning. Deakins wants us there."

"Oh." There was a moment of silence as she processed that, and then her eyes widened. "_Him_?"

Bobby nodded. "I know. I'll be there, I promise; so will Deakins. Brewer's not going to get within ten feet of you, believe me."

She swallowed and said quietly, "Ok. What time do we need to be there?"

"A little before nine. I'll wake you up in plenty of time in the morning."

"Oh. I . . . ok." She tried to suppress a shiver, but failed. "Bastard."

He knew she wasn't referring to him. "You're right, he is, but you're going to have to face him anyway." Leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, he pulled the blankets back up around them. "Go back to sleep now. We'll deal with it in the morning."

"Ok." She paused and he could hear her breathing deepen for a few seconds before she spoke again. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

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They arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before nine the next morning, Bobby supporting a large portion of Alex's weight with an arm around her waist. Deakins stood just past the security gate, anxiously waiting for them; the worried look on his face morphed into an expression of shocked concern as he caught sight of them. Catching sight of his expression from where she stood just inside the door, Alex tried to see herself and her companion as Deakins was seeing them:

_A slight woman with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a flannel shirt and sweatpants, both of which bagged on her and were clearly not hers. The sweatpants were rolled up at the cuffs and down at the waist, while the shirt's arms were rolled up almost halfway, only barely exposing her hands at the ends of the sleeves. She was walking slightly bent over, with one hand on her ribs, seeming to be able to move only with the help of her companion._

_Next to her, obviously helping to keep her upright, walked a tall man with a cast on one wrist. In contrast to his companion, he was dressed in a neat gray suit and tie, well-tailored to fit his sizeable form; however, despite his immaculate presentation, he didn't seem bothered by the fact that the woman was clutching one side of his jacket, wrinkling and stretching the fabric with her tight grip_.

They were forced to separate to walk through the metal detector; she needed the help of one of the security guards to keep her balance as she stepped through . Seconds later, he was through and replacing his arm around his waist, leading her toward Deakins, who continued to stare at her, although to his credit, he had managed to conceal most of his worry. "You look like shit," he told her bluntly as they approached him.

Alex blinked, surprised by his affectionate tactlessness, then shrugged. "I know. But you're the one who insisted I be here today, so it's your fault I'm currently out in public looking like shit."

Deakins grinned. "At least your attitude has made a full recovery."

She rolled her eyes and tried not to be obvious as she leaned more of her weight on Bobby, who looked down at her, then up at Deakins. "We had to park a couple blocks away. She looked a lot better when we got out of the car, before we started walking here."

Alex sighed. "Don't remind me. You are _so _getting the car and picking me up right out front at the end of this."

"Of course." He eyed the captain. "Are we going to get started soon? She's tired."

"I can speak for myself, Bobby," Alex said indignantly.

Choosing to ignore her comment, Deakins nodded to Bobby. "Yeah, they're just waiting for us inside."

"Well, let's go."

They made their way to the gallery and took seats in the front row, nodding to Carver when he turned and noticed them.

"Can you sit up like this?" Bobby whispered in her ear as they lowered themselves onto the hard, straight-backed bench.

She gritted her teeth against the pained groan she was tempted to let out. "Not really, but for now I can deal with it. Just promise me endless Vicodin after we get out of here."

His reply was cut off by the appearance of the Judge Ryan at the front of the room and the order for all to rise. Bobby had to more or less lift Alex out of her sitting position, and they were both grateful when the judge, with whom they had dealt well in the past, caught sight of Alex's pained look and hastily sat so that she could also.

"This court will come to order," the baliff recited. "The honorable Judge Ryan is presiding."

As the room began to quiet down, Ryan looked from Carver to Steven Brewer and back. "I understand we have a bond dispute this morning, Counselor?" he asked the ADA.

"That's correct, sir."

"Let's see what we've got here," Ryan said thoughtfully as he opened Brewer's file. "Mr. Brewer, you stand accused of nine counts of Murder One, two counts of assaulting a police officer, and one count of attempted murder of a police officer." He glanced up at the man's lawyer. "Have I got all the charges here, Counselor, or is there a bank robbery or two that I missed? Spousal abuse, maybe?"

A few giggles came from the gallery, but neither lawyer cracked a smile as Brewer's attorney, a wiry man by the name of Callahan, said, "Those are all the charges as we understand them, Your Honor. That is, unless the people would like to trump some more up while we're here."

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Callahan," Ryan warned sharply. "You know better than to accuse the People of something like that without evidence to back it up. Now . . ." he said, looking back down at the notes in front of him, "I see that Judge Roberts ordered your client remanded without bail?"

"Yes, Your Honor, and I, for one, find that ridiculous. My client has almost no income and no connections with anyone outside the jurisdiction, and -"

"Hold your horses, Counselor," Ryan interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Callahan's speech. "Let's get the basics first. What amount of bond are you asking for?"

"Ten thousand dollars, Your Honor."

Murmurs of outrage rose from the audience, which was mostly made up of the families of the children Brewer had killed, along with police officers who knew the MCS detectives. Judge Ryan gave his gavel one hard bang and glared in the general direction of the crowd. "The only people who should be talking in this room are Mr. Callahan, Mr. Carver, and myself. Let's keep it that way."

He nodded in satisfaction as the room quieted, then went on, "Mr. Callahan, may I ask what has possessed you to think that any judge, let alone me in particular, would overrule Judge Roberts and set bail that low?"

"The People's murder case against my client is pathetic, Your Honor, and his actions while in police custody were a desperate act in response to mistreatment by the detectives who handled him."

"Your Honor," Carver spoke up, not even looking at his opponent, "we have the murder weapon, which was found in the home of the accused, as well as skin samples that are a genetic match to Mr. Brewer from under the nails of two victims. As for his behavior during his interrogation," Carver went on, now allowing a sneer to appear both on his face and his voice, "as my opponent has already been informed, but not bothered to share with the rest of the court, we are in possession of a tape of the entire interview in question, which clearly shows that he was treated no worse, and perhaps better, than any other suspect."

"Digital evidence can be manipulated," Callahan protested. "We all know," he continued with a laugh designed to garner agreement from his audience, "how the police will close ranks, and sometimes break the law, to protect one of their own."

"Mr. Callahan, I'll thank you to stick to the facts of this case rather than tossing around allegations whenever it suits you. This is your second warning; you won't like what happens if I have to remind you again."

Callahan nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. However, I stand behind my argument that the NYPD has the ability to manipulate or alter evidence, should the so wish."

"There may be some people on the force who have the technological ability," Carver shot back, "but I'm sure I don't need to remind Mr. Callahan that video evidence from NYPD interviews has been challenged many times, and has always been shown to be valid. In fact, Mr. Callahan is welcome to have the tape analyzed by any reputable expert he wishes; the People will not object."

"How about it, Mr. Callahan?" Ryan said, looking at the other attorney.

"We'll be sure to take the People up on their offer if this case ever goes to trial," Callahan said, "but for the moment, I believe I've made my point."

"Very well. Mr. Carver?" Ryan prompted, giving the ADA a last chance to rebut Callahan's arguments.

"Your Honor, the People feel that we have presented the pertinent facts; however, if we may, we would like to play for you a short portion of the videotape in question so that you can see the brutality of the attack."

"Objections, Mr. Callahan?"

Callahan, looking like a deer caught in headlights, opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally just shook his head slumped into his seat.

In the audience, Alex stiffened and sucked in a breath when she heard Carver's request. She turned to look at Bobby and found him already watching her with a deliberately calming gaze. Between their bodies on the bench, his hand found hers and squeezed. _You can make it through this_, his eyes told her. _We've survived the nightmares, and they've all been worse than reality_. She gave him a tiny nod and squeezed his hand back.

On her other side, she could sense that Deakins was watching both of them with concern. After taking a second to compose herself, she turned and gave him a weak smile and a shrug. He nodded slightly and patted her knee in a fatherly gesture, then turned his attention back to the front of the room, where a television and VCR were being wheeled into the room.

The equipment was set up so that the screen faced only Judge Ryan, and Alex sat, rooted to her seat, as the sounds of the interview began to replay:

_"Did you think that killing these innocent kids," Goren's voice said, "would bring back whatever innocence you once had, innocence that you lost a long time ago?"_

_"No."_

_"Oh? Then what was it? Did you get off on it, Steven? The sight of tiny children being broken under your hands? Did you come in your pants as you snapped their necks?"_

_A quiet gasp._

_The sound of a chair being forced back against the tiled floor, then the hollow, metallic sound of the table being overturned. A female-sounding squeak, followed by a man's heavy breathing._

_A loud thunk as her head hit the corner of the window , followed by a cracking noise as her ribs snapped._

Judge Ryan let out an audible gasp at this point in the viewing and Alex allowed herself a moment to reflect that it must look almost as bad on video as it had felt in real life. Then she turned her attention back to the sounds emanating from the TV.

_The sounds of a scuffle: grunts, another chair being shoved across the floor, a growl from one of the men. Then a maddened exclamation in Bobby's voice - a vicious curse word, and hey, she didn't remember being told about that - and the sound of bodies falling. A door being pulled open, followed by shouts in many different voices . . ._

Carver hit the_ stop_ button on the VCR and turned off the TV, then pushed the cart to the side of the room. "Your Honor, Detective Eames barely lived through the scene you just saw; she had four broken ribs and a lacerated artery, among other injuries, and was only released from the hospital a few days ago. Detective Goren broke his wrist during the struggle. Both detectives are present in the courtroom today, if you'd like to hear from them before you make your ruling."

Judge Ryan nodded slowly. "Please come up and join Mr. Carver, Detectives."

Wishing he could punch Carver instead of join him, Bobby reluctantly stood up and helped Alex to her feet. "I feel like I should have 'Exhibit A' written on my forehead," she muttered as her hand went automatically to her aching ribs.

"Me too, but we might as well give him a show," he whispered back, letting her take a step up the aisle by herself, so that the judge could see how difficult it was for her to walk, before he put his arm around her waist and helped her the rest of the way.

Alex determinedly straightened up as they moved to stand next to Carver behind the prosecutor's table. She knew she'd regret it in an hour, but there was no way she was standing in front of a full courtroom bent over like a crone.

Judge Ryan eyed first Alex, then Bobby, before looking back to Alex. "Detective Eames, are you well enough to be standing?"

She gritted her teeth. "Not really, sir, but I'm doing it anyway, at least for the next few minutes."

Ryan chuckled. "Mr. Carver, please give Detective Eames a chair," he said, then gave Alex a look that staved off the protest she opened her mouth to make. "Sit, Detective. Your injuries make you exempt from the usual formalities." When she was sitting, he looked back at the court. "Mr. Callahan, if you and your client would please rise."

When the two men at the defense table were on their feet, Ryan looked hard at Brewer, then back at his lawyer. "Mr. Callahan, I don't know what kind of logic you've been using, but I find myself shocked that you would would think I would lower your client's bail after seeing that videotape. The accused will remain _remanded_ and _without bail_," he said, emphasizing the words.

After giving everyone a moment to absorb his decision, Ryan banged his gavel and added, "This court is dismissed."

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A/N: Everything that happens in the courtroom after the judge walks in is a product of my imagination; I have no idea if it's even possible to appeal bail, let alone what the procedure would be.


	17. Back to work

The following Monday morning found Deakins stepping carefully off the elevator on the eleventh floor of One PP, holding his briefcase in one hand and a box containing a dozen donuts, which had a cardboard tray that held two cups of coffee balanced precariously on top of it, in the other.

He let out a sigh of relief when Hutchinson, one of the newer members of the squad, happened to pass by, stopped short as his brain processed what he'd seen, and backtracked. "You need a hand, Cap?" he asked, already reaching out to relieve Deakins of the coffee tray.

"Yeah, thanks." He gave the detective a grateful smile and explained, "I told Goren he could come back today . . . figured the least I could do after banishing him for a week was bring him breakfast."

"Um . . . Goren?" Hutchinson said hesitantly. "Just him?"

"Yeah, just Goren. Who else would there be?" Deakins asked, confused.

The young detective looked away from him as he said with a shrug, "No reason. Just making conversation. So, uh . . . we gonna bring these over to him?"

"Course. Thanks for the help," he added over his shoulder as Hutchinson followed him out of the elevator vestibule and into the squad room itself. "I was starting to worry I'd end up wearing his coffee before I could get it to . . ." He stopped walking abruptly, escaping a collision with the man behind him only because Hutchins had been expecting the reaction and dodged to the side. ". . . him. You!" he shouted, staring at the two occupied desks in front of him.

Both occupants of the desks lifted their heads and gave him politely blank looks. "Morning, Captain," Goren said pleasantly, not looking at the woman sitting across from him. "I see you brought breakfast."

Deakins distractedly set the box of donuts on the corner of the nearest desk and glared at Goren while pointing an accusing finger at Eames, who just looked at him silently, pale but composed. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"Paperwork," she answered before Goren could. "And you should damn well be thankful that I'm doing it. You know how Goren always forgets to get it in on time."

"What?" Deakins exclaimed incredulously, his voice rising in both pitch and volume. "Damn it, Alex, I don't care what you're doing _right now_; I want to know why the hell you're sitting at your desk to begin with, given that you're not even supposed to be out of _bed_ for another four days!"

"I got bored," she said nonchalantly, returning her attention to the form she was currently working on. "Guess there's no coffee for me in that?" she asked Hutchinson after sneaking a look at the tray he held.

"Uh, no, I don't think so. Sorry."

"Give me that!" Deakins barked, pulling the tray out of the man's hands. "He is _not _sorry," he told Eames emphatically. "I don't buy coffee for people who aren't supposed to be here!"

"Would you just calm down?" she snapped. "You think Goren didn't already try to tell me I couldn't come in today? Trust me, Captain, whatever argument you're about to make, I already heard it from him."

"Eames," Goren began tiredly.

"You didn't let me out of bed the whole damn weekend!" she interrupted him waspishly, her voice rising as she got more frustrated. "I'm on a low enough dose of the painkillers now, and I'm totally recovered from court last week, and -" Her words trailed off as she realized that the room had fallen completely silent. "What?" she demanded, looking around at her co-workers and noticing that everyone had suddenly become very interested in the surfaces of their desks.

Deakins's lips twitched and he tried to look oblivious.

"_What?" _she repeated, glaring at him.

"Uh . . ." He smothered a laugh. "In the future, you . . . might want to watch how you phrase your complaints. People might get the wrong idea, you know?"

"Oh, for the love of god," she said in exasperation, throwing up her hands as she realized what her words of a few seconds ago had seemed to imply. "Would you people get your minds out of the gutter and just leave me _alone_? I promise you, the only harm paperwork is going to do to me is a papercut or two, at worst."

Goren looked up at Deakins and shrugged resignedly. "You're wasting your time arguing about it. Trust me, I'm keeping an eye on her, and her brother's on call in case she gets too tired and I need to send her home."

"You didn't tell me that!" Eames said, looking at him in surprise. After a second's pause, she added, "Which brother?"

"Rob. Now do your paperwork."

"Since when do you even _know _my brothers?" she persevered.

Deakins looked from one detective to the other and sighed. "Fine, go ahead and stay. Silly me, thinking you might obey your boss's orders. But you overdo it, Alex," he said, leveling a threatening gaze at her, "and I just might skip your brother and go straight to your dad." Looking back to Goren, he added, "And you! You'd better keep her in check, Detective, or I might be tempted to call her father on you, too." Then, heaving an exasperated sigh, he snatched a donut out of the box and headed for his office.

"Well," Alex said, resting her chin in one hand and reaching for a donut with the other as she watched Deakins shut his office door behind him, "_that _sucked."

Bobby raised his eyes from the file he'd opened and gave her a slight smile. "All things considered, it could have been w-"

"Hey, wait a second," she cut him off abruptly. "You didn't tell me how you know my brother."

"Well, I don't really 'know' him . . . I mean, I'm not friends with him or anything . . ."

"Bobby," she warned, knowing she didn't need to raise her voice for him to get the message. "Get on with it."

Looking at the file instead of her, he shrugged. "You were in the ER for almost an hour and then surgery for something like five hours. Your family and I waited together. We were all trying to forget that we might . . . uh, that you could . . ." He sighed, trying to gather his thoughts, and started again: "We were all trying to forget the worst-case scenario. So we filled up the time talking."

"You can say it, you know," she told him quietly. "You were all trying to forget that I might die."

"Yes," he confirmed flatly.

"So then, who did you meet?"

"What?" he said with a blank look.

"My family, Bobby. Who did you meet? And why didn't anyone mention this to me?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. " 'Who was in the waiting room' isn't a topic that comes up in conversation, even conversation about what happened that day. And to answer your other question, there were a lot of people in the waiting room," he added. "I counted what looked like three brothers and two sisters, along with your parents, but I only got a few names, and it was hard to keep track of who was related with everyone's spouses running around, so I'm not sure . . ."

"No, you got it right, three brothers and two sisters . . . Rob, John, Sean, Kate, and Beth," she said, ticking them off on her fingers as she named them. "I'll quiz you later about who was who," she added with a grin.

"Please don't," he implored as he grabbed a donut for himself. "I was lucky I could remember my _own _name that day, let alone anyone else's."

"I'll take you to meet them one day. Mom's been begging me to come home so she can feed me, which is code for 'putter around and generally treat me like a five year old who needs to be taken care of.' She'd probably have a ball with two injured detectives to cluck over instead of just one."

"Um . . ." He bit into the donut to buy time while he studied her face, trying to figure out if she was kidding.

"I'm serious," she said, easily picking up on his confusion. "I'll bet you anything my parents are desperate to thank you again for pulling Brewer off me."

Bobby just shook his head. "Me being there would just remind them that you were hurt in the first place. Now, you should get to work on those forms," he told her with a little more force than he intended.

"Touchy, touchy. You want some of my Vicodin to curb that attitude?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't work on yours."

She threw an eraser at him. "Jerk."

"Paperwork, Eames," he reminded her. "You stop being productive, I call your brother."

She grumbled something unflattering about him but picked up a pen and returned her attention to the pile of paper in front of her.

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Two hours later, Alex was pulled from sleep by someone shaking her shoulder. "Mmph?" she mumbled, bleary-eyed, as she raised her head off her arms.

"Come on and get up, Al. Your partner's sick of your snoring," said a voice from behind her.

"Rob?" She looked at her brother, then back at Bobby. "You called him?"

"You've been asleep for over an hour. I was hoping it was just a catnap, but when you hit the half hour mark, I gave up," Goren said with a helpless shrug.

"I do _not _snore!" she huffed to Rob as she tried to stand up and narrowly missed tumbling face first onto her desk instead.

"Whoa!" He caught her by the arm and steadied her, then took a moment to look at her more closely. "Ribs taped?"

"Yeah," she muttered, reflexively putting a hand to the area.

"Got your meds?"

"Yes, mother," she replied testily. "You know, one mom is more than enough. I don't need three more."

"Why, who else dares to have the balls to actually . . . gasp . . . _worry_ about you?" Rob asked with deliberately-overdone sarcasm.

"Oh, never mind." She glanced over at her partner. "Bobby, are you going to come over after work and make me dinner again? I'm starting to get used to it."

"Dinner, eh?" Rob repeated speculatively. "You guys been 'having dinner' a lot lately?"

She kicked him in the leg. "Stop it. I only allow one insinuation about my sex life per day, and I beat you to it hours ago."

Bobby choked on a sip of coffee and smothered a laugh by coughing into his hand instead.

"Shut up," she ordered, glaring at him. "It was your fault to begin with."

He just grinned and shook his head. "Take her home," he told Rob. "And make sure she doesn't try to do anything except sleep."

"You know, I've been taking care of myself for most of my life. I'm perfectly capable of continuing to do it now," Alex snapped at him before turning back to her brother. "If I have to leave, can we get me out of here before Deakins comes out and joins this circus?"

"Whatever you say," he said easily. "Let's go. Thanks, Goren," he added over his shoulder as he began to lead her away.

"Don't encouragehim!" she hissed as he helped her into the elevator.

"Why not?" Rob shot back. "Someone's gotta keep you from messing yourself up any more than you already have. He seems like a nice enough guy."

She sighed and leaned against the wall. "Don't start."

"Don't start with what?" he said innocently. "All I said was that he's a nice guy."

"Yeah, and you said it with your sneaky look. I _know _you, Robbie."

Rob just smiled at her and they rode in silence for a few seconds before he asked, "Why the hell were you making insinuations about your own sex life?"

"I wasn't," she said with a sigh. "At least, I didn't mean to be. I said something to Goren that just came out wrong."

"What kind of 'something'?"

"I yelled at him that he hadn't let me out of bed all weekend," she said with a rueful laugh.

His head snapped up and he stared at her. "Excuse me? Exactly why was your partner in bed with you?"

She was saved by the bell as the elevator chimed to inform them that they'd arrived on the ground floor. "It's a long story," she muttered as he led her to his car.


	18. Brotherly love

A/N: Ya know, I'm really starting to like this Rob guy. It's so fun to write siblings interacting with each other, it reminds me of my crazy family!

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"It's a long story, huh? Well, the day is still young, and there's plenty of time for you to tell it," Rob told her as he buckled her into the passenger seat of the black-and-white he'd driven over, as though she were a little girl. "So you can start talking any time."

She tolerated his actions with affectionate annoyance, waiting until he pulled his hands back from her lap to give him an irritated look. "You know, I stopped being five about thirty-four years ago. I can buckle my own seatbelt."

"Yeah," he said, sounding harassed, as he climbed into the driver seat, "and I bet you think you can work without falling asleep at your desk, too. Give it up, Al," he added as he pulled the car away from the curb. "You're not invincible, as much as you might want to be."

"I never said I was invincible. All I want is for everyone to stop treating me like I'm not capable of the basic functions of life." When he didn't counter her comment, she took the opportunity to change the subject, leaning slightly forward and patting the dashboard. "Man, I haven't ridden in one of these in years. What happened, they demote you back to the street?"

"Har, har." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his open badge case, tossing it into her lap. "Still gold, brat. I walked to work this morning, so when your partner called, I just grabbed the car closest to the front of the garage and went. And don't try to distract me while I'm busy telling you what's good for you," he added with a slight smile.

"At least you realize how dumb you sound," she replied, ignoring the nickname she'd gotten used to by the time she turned three. "Wait, you're working today?" The way Bobby had spoken about him being 'on call,' she'd assumed that Rob had the day off and had offered to play babysitter. "Then why did you say you could come get me any time, and how'd you talk your lieutenant into letting you go?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked in disbelief. "You're a celebrity among cops, my dear sister. Johnson wouldn't dare try to stop me for fear word might get out that he interfered with the recovery of the heroic Detective Eames - that's 'Detective Eames' you, of course, not 'Detective Eames' me."

"Oh, god," she moaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. "Please tell me you just made that up and no one's actually called me 'heroic'." If she hadn't known it would hurt, she would have slumped down in her seat in embarrassment.

He glanced at her and started to say something, then moved his eyes back to the road as a taxi cut him off. "Jackass," he muttered as the cabbie flipped him off and swerved into another lane. When the cab had disappeared, he looked back to her. "Let me put it this way: my status in the precinct has gone up just from being related to you."

Alex closed her eyes and groaned, half in distress at his words and half in pain from the unexpectedly sharp turn he had just made onto her block.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said as he blithely stole a parking spot in front of her building from a Hummer that had been waiting patiently with its blinker on, "I don't think they'd be as effusive if you didn't happen to be a woman and less than half the guy's weight."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "That's why I hate it. If I'd actually _done _anything other than let myself get squished between a criminal and a wall, I'd feel a lot less guilty about people's reactions. And by the way, cutting that truck off was seriously bad karma."

"You worry about my bad karma; I'll worry about my stubborn, injured sister." He carefully opened his door and stepped into the street, crossing to her side of the car. "Besides," he continued as he pulled her door open, "he moved too slow and that tank would never have fit into this spot."

"Yeah, and the only reason he's not taking the time to park and kick your ass is because you're driving a radio car," she shot back as she watched the driver of the Hummer glare at her brother before driving off in search of another space. "And I don't count as injured anymore, since everything's been fixed and I'm just recuperating."

"Uh-huh," he said, leaning in and batting her hands away so he could unbuckle her. "And that's why you need help to walk, and why you fell asleep at your desk this morning?"

"Shut up," she snapped, although she allowed him to help her step out of the car and stand up.

"Just sayin'," he said with a grin. "And speaking of how you're _not _injured, you need a hand walking?"

"That's a cheap shot, Robbie. You know I do."

Rob shrugged. "Hey, cheap shots are more convenient than expensive ones. Let's go," he told her, offering her his arm, which she took reluctantly. "So," he said casually a few seconds later, trying not to notice how heavily she was leaning on him as they walked up the steps of her building, "you didn't tell me why you're sleeping with your partner. And if you won't tell me, I'm going to be seriously tempted to hunt him down and get an answer from _him _instead."

"I'd kill you."

"Never stopped any of us from interrogating your boyfriends before. Whatever kind of 'hero' the rest of the Force thinks you are, you're still my little sister and I still reserve the right to drive away any boys who hang around you that I don't approve of."

She abruptly stopped walking and pulled her arm out of his grasp. "You're not going to be driving away _anyone, _thank you very much. And he's not my boyfriend."

"But you're sleeping with him anyway?" He pulled open the door of her building and ushered her through it, hiding a smirk when she bristled at his words.

"I am _not_ . . .! Damnit," she growled, pausing to cross her arms and glare at him, "it's not that kind of 'sleeping.' I have nightmares and having him there keeps them away, and that's all."

"Nightmares," he repeated neutrally as the elevator doors opened in front of them.

"Yes, Rob, nightmares. About nearly getting killed. Remember that whole thing, or are you too busy speculating on my relationship with my partner?"

"Down, girl. I'm not speculating on anything, at least not until I get more details out of you. And I _will _get details out of you," he added as they stepped out onto her floor. "Or, if not you, someone else."

"There _is_ no one else," she told him smugly, unlocking the door of her apartment and pushing it open a little too hard.

"Ve haf our vays of makink you talk," he replied in a terrible German accent, looking around at the room he was standing in. He hadn't seen his sister's apartment since . . . well, probably since he and his brothers had helped move her in a few years ago. The place wasn't nearly big enough for her to host family events at - those almost always ended up being held at their parents' house in Staten Island - so there was really no reason for her to invite any family members over here.

"Hey, Alex?" he said when he realized she'd dropped his arm and disappeared into the kitchen. "Since when are you so neat?" The floor was devoid of the shoes and books that had always littered her bedroom when they were children, and an assortment of sweaters and jackets were hung in a neat row behind the door instead of thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch.

"I'm not. Goren cleans when he gets bored," she replied distractedly, popping her head through the doorway. "Do you think you could do me a favor and go buy milk and bread?"

He didn't bother to respond to her request; the first part of what she'd said was more interesting by far. "Uh-huh. So not only are you sleeping with him, but he hangs around here enough to get bored and you're letting him clean your apartment, too. Sounds serious to me."

"I swear to god, if I hear one more word about him I'm going to personally make sure you can't have any more kids," she said, snatching the nearest kitchen utensil, which happened to be a a corkscrew, and waving at him threateningly. "And then Jen will divorce you and _I'll laugh_."

"Geez, they couldn't give you a drug for the bitchiness along with everything else they've got you on?"

"Not after I threatened the doctor's vital organs," she lied sarcastically. "So watch your mouth."

"You have nightmares, so he sleeps with you?" he said, walking past her into the kitchen and leaning casually against the counter.

"What?" she said, caught off-guard by his subject change.

"That's what you said, isn't it? You have nightmares about being hurt, and having him sleeping with you makes you feel better?"

"So what if it does?" she said defensively. "It's my life and my bed."

"Uh-huh, and I'm sure Dad will agree with that when I tell him," he replied, turning away and pretending to be interested in a box on the counter. "Why yes, Alex has heard all the warnings about mixed partnerships, but she still doesn't see anything wrong with sharing a bed with her partner . . ." he began, as if their father were listening.

"You know," she sighed, tired of trying to argue with him, "you're so busy being snarky and trying to piss me off that you're forgetting that you ought to be kissing his feet for keeping Brewer from killing me. That occurred to you lately?"

The amusement faded from Rob's face. "Believe me, I know exactly how lucky we all are that we didn't lose you."

"That's not what I said," she said. "What's lucky is that he was in there when it happened and he was big enough to pull the guy off me. I'm serious, you should be willing to forgive him just about anything in return for that."

"I never said he wasn't a good guy and a good partner."

"Then why are you talking like you think I should drop him?" she retorted. "You think it's better for me to not be able to sleep because of the nightmares and go and get myself reassigned to some female partner who wouldn't have had a chance against Brewer either?"

"Al . . ." he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm not saying I dislike the guy. In fact, I actually think he's pretty decent, both as a cop and as a person. I'm just trying to point out to you that it's not the brightest idea to get so close to any guy who happens to also be your partner." When he returned his eyes to hers, they showed deep concern.

She couldn't yell at him when he had that 'worried older brother' look on his face. "I told you, he's not my boyfriend, so you can stop panicking. Besides, he feels so guilty about me getting hurt that if I wasn't keeping him near me, he'd probably ask to be reassigned."

"Makes sense to me. That he would _feel like_ that, I mean," he added hastily when her eyes narrowed, "not that he would _be _guilty."

She shook her head and crossed the room to hug him. "I worry about him," she told him quietly. "He's the best partner I've ever had. And one of the best men I've ever known, in general. Take that however you want," she added, "but please, just don't try to interfere with what I'm doing."

He put his arms around her cautiously, not sure how much pressure her ribs could stand. "I'm not going to go after him. I'm just ragging you because you're my sister and while you're busy worrying about him, me and the rest of the family are busy worrying about you."

"Well, quit with the worrying." She took a step back and looked at him, cocking her head to the side in an unconscious imitation of Goren's favorite posture. "You know, it never occurred to me before that hugging him feels a lot like hugging you or Sean or John."

"Uh . . . Because he has a habit of tickling you at random moments?" he asked teasingly, feinting toward her with his hands outstretched.

"No, and I'll thank you to keep your hands far away from my ribs, tickling or not," she replied primly, slapping at his hands to make her point. "What I mean is that I never put together the thoughts that you three are all way taller than me and that Goren is, too. Maybe that's why he makes me feel safe," she said thoughtfully. "You guys have always been my protectors."

"You're getting mushy on me, Al. I think it's time for you to hit the sheets."

At the mention of sleep, she yawned widely before she could stop herself. "Hmm, guess you have a point. You going to go back to work?"

"No way. I'm supposed to stay and keep you company until loverboy gets here after work."

"I don't feel like hitting you again. Step on your own foot for me, would you?" she said tiredly. "You can stay, I don't care. I'm just saying that I don't need to be babysat. You're going to be bored as hell hanging around here for half a day."

"I've got paperwork that I left in the car. I'll keep myself occupied." He gave her a gentle push toward her bedroom ."Don't worry about me. Go catch up on your sleep."

"Hey, it's your afternoon," she said with a shrug. "Waste it how you want." With that, she allowed the momentum of his push to start her walking.

"Good girl. Sleep well," he told her, following her into her living room.

"I'll try. Oh," she added, pausing in the bedroom doorway and looking back at him, "and if you hear me scream, don't freak out, just come and wake me up from the nightmare."

Taken aback, he could only watch, speechless, as she gave him a tiny smile and disappeared behind the door of her room.


	19. Comfortable chaos

A/N: I heart this chapter! I'm going to have the BEST time writing this family dinner!

A/N 2: I haven't forgotten Reunion...I'm just making really, really slow progress on it. As in, like, two lines a day. Sigh.

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A few hours later, Rob hung up his phone and smiled to himself. Alex was going to kill him, but _man _was this going to be a fun night . . .

Even forewarned as he had been, he shot out of his chair like his ass was on fire when a scream came from his sister's room a moment later. His pen and clipboard went flying and he cursed as he caught his foot on the leg of the couch in his attempt to move quickly.

He found her sitting up in bed, panting, her face drawn at the pain her sudden movement had caused her. "Alex," he said quietly, sitting down next to her. "You awake?"

She didn't answer for a second, and he was preparing to speak again when she nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm . . . awake." A shiver ran through her and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Are you ok?"

"No," she said flatly, turning away from him in an attempt to hide the the pathetic expression she knew was on her face. "I'm not sure I'm ever going to be totally ok again."

Not in the least fooled by her movement, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, at least temporarily?"

_The leering face, coming toward her fast, too fast . . . she couldn't avoid him . . ._

She stiffened, fighting to push away the remnants of the dream. "Talk."

"What?"

"Talk. About anything. Keep me distracted until it goes away."

"Um . . .ok." He stopped, trying to think of what would be most effective at distracting her. "I talked to Mom while you were asleep." She didn't reply, but when she didn't seem to get any more panicked either, he went on, "She was glad that I'm with you. I get the impression you haven't been keeping her too up-to-date on how you're doing."

"So she made you tell her everything," Alex said with a trace of humor, weak as it was, re-entering her voice. "Is she on her way over here now?"

"Nah," he said, ruffling her hair. "Worse than that. You've been summoned to dinner tonight so she can see you for herself."

That comment had the intended effect on her as her eyes widened and she stared at him, momentarily forgetting the nightmare she'd just woken up from in favor of the one Rob had just suggested. "No!" she said emphatically. "No way, not tonight."

"Al, come on. No one's seen you since they let you out of the hospital, and Mom's in the process of summoning _everyone_ to dinner. Just let them see you, smile a little, don't tell them about the nightmares. Let Mom feed you, let Dad bitch and moan about how you should be more careful . . ."

"Robbie, _look _at me!" she said, gesturing at the bags under her eyes and then at her wrinkled clothes. "If they see me tonight, they'll just be more worried."

"Well . . ." He paused, trying not to look as scheming as he felt. "You said your partner makes you feel better, right? Safe?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "Yes . . . but you better not be hinting at what it sounds like you're hinting at."

"She wants him to come, too."

"No!"

"I thought you wanted to prove to me how grateful we should all be to him."

"I didn't say anything about proving it. I just told you that you _should _be grateful," she corrected him. "It's not like I need him there to feel safe around my own family."

He paused, noting that her face had regained some of its color and she was no longer hugging herself. _Much better! Now let's see if I can shake you completely out of it . . ._ "Didn't you say he feels guilty?"

She nodded but lowered her eyebrows and gave him a dark look.

"You know Mom will fall all over him to thank him for saving you. Think how much better it will make him feel."

"No."

"Got news for you, Al," he said with a grin. "Mom's going to get you for dinner, even if she has to lead everyone over here instead, so you might as well bring him along, for the food if nothing else." He was sure she was wavering, and he added more aggressively, "Just come! It will make everyone, including you, feel better. And if you bring Goren, I can almost promise you he'll feel better too. No one can watch us all eat dinner together without cracking up at least once."

"He doesn't . . . feel comfortable with families," she sighed. "Especially big, loud, obnoxious ones like ours."

He pulled back and looked at her skeptically. "How do you know? How many big, loud, obnoxious families have you seen him interact with - ones that _weren't _involved in a case?"

"I just know him," she insisted. "He'll be uncomfortable."

"You know, there's something really wrong with the fact that _I _am trying to talk _you _into bringing a guy home for dinner. But I'll ignore that for now. I'll talk to Jen, ok? Between her, me, and you, we can keep the family under some semblance of order so we don't terrify the guy. Better yet -"

"Rob."

"Have him drive you, and that way if you think he's getting uncomfortable you can claim exhaustion and get both of you out of there."

"Rob!"

"What?"

"Would you like to tell me why you're so hung up on Goren coming to dinner?"

"No."

"Do it anyway."

He shrugged. "Like I said, I think he's a decent guy. He was scared to death for you at the hospital - I think I saw Mom comforting _him _for a while while you were in surgery. I honestly think she'll want to see him, and let's face it - if you have him to worry about, you won't be such a pain in the ass, yourself."

"Gee, I love you too," she snorted. "And I _can _tell you're not telling me everything, you know."

He grinned irreverently at her. "Doesn't matter to me what you can 'tell' as long as you do what I say. Will you at least call the guy and invite him? Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll turn you down."

She groaned. "Fine. He'll say no. Give me the damn phone, then leave me alone."

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Bobby was slumped over the pile of paperwork Alex's departure had left him with, appearing to be working but actually trying to figure out how to act toward her tonight, when his phone began to play the beginning of Beethoven's 9th symphony. The number on his caller ID display when he fished the phone out of his pocket was unfamiliar, and he opened the handset with caution. "Goren."

"Hey, it's me," said Alex's voice.

He pulled the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID again, verifying that it wasn't hers. "Uh, hi. This isn't your number."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm on Rob's phone. Listen, he wants me to ask you something, ok?" she said.

Her brother wanted her to ask _him _something? That didn't sound good. Goren straightened up in his chair, set down his pen, and concentrated on the voice in his ear.

"My family's getting together for dinner tonight - like I told you, my mother's been worrying about me - and Rob, uh . . . suggested I bring you along. You don't have to come," she added quickly. "No pressure at all."

He pictured the chaos the Eames family had created in the hospital waiting room a few weeks ago and winced. "Well, I . . ."

"It's ok," she cut in as she heard the hesitation in his voice, feeling a little disappointed in spite of herself. "It was just an idea."

He paused, breaking down her speech into words and tone, and analyzing each. She almost sounded like . . . "Would you . . . like me to come?" he asked tentatively, at the same time wondering what could possibly possess him to volunteer for this.

Alex swallowed and thought about it, glad she had banished her brother from the room. "It would . . . be nice. I'd like for you to meet everyone. But I know you don't like chaos, and . . . my family's a little crazy. So you can say no if you don't want to deal with it."

Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes roam the room as he considered the invitation. "If you really want me to come - if you're not just asking to be polite - then I . . . I'll come."

"You will?" she said, slightly shocked by his acceptance.

_No! _he wanted to scream. _You know I don't know how to act with large, happy families! Why are you asking me to do this?_

Into the phone, he just said, "Yes. Do I, uh, need to bring anything?"

"Some Valium might help," she said with a grin he couldn't see. "For me, not you." When he had let out the obligatory chuckle, she went on, "You only need to bring yourself. There will be plenty of food, trust me. Would you mind picking me up after work and driving us there? It'll take aboout an hour, since it's rush hour."

"Uh . . . sure, no problem."

"Great," she said shakily, hoping he wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice. "I'll . . . see you then, then."

"Right. Uh . . . bye."

"Bye."

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When they pulled up in front of her parents' house that evening, Alex only only managed to get one foot out of the car before her mother made a barely-controlled dash from the house to where she stood. "Alex, honey!" she exclaimed, taking Alex's face in her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"At the moment? Cornered," she replied with a grin, gently brushing away her mother's hands. "At least let us get in the house before you start attacking me."

"Us?" her mother repeated, looking confused for a second before catching sight of Bobby's head over the roof of the car. "You brought him!" she said, her face brightening significantly.

"Mother," Alex reprimanded through gritted teeth, "do _not _embarrass me." Knowing her mother would follow her, she walked around to the other side of the car, where Goren stood trying not to look like he wanted to jump back inside it and lock the doors. "Mom, this is my partner, Bobby Goren. But I hear you guys've already met."

"Of course, sweetie," she said, giving the tall man a wide smile that bore a strong resemblance to her daughter's. "Hello, Robert."

"Bobby, my mom, Molly Eames."

He offered his hand to the woman in front of him, struck by the strong resemblance between mother and daughter. Molly Eames, in contrast to how tall he remembered the rest of the family being, was the same height as Alex, and her dark blonde hair, though worn much shorter than her daughter's, was the same color. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Eames."

She waved a hand dismissively. " 'Molly,' please. I'm so glad you agreed to come. Everyone's already inside," she went on, turning to Alex, "except for John and Laura - they ran into a last-second tantrum and they're going to be late."

Alex grinned, enjoying the welcome feeling of being drawn back into the comfortable chaos of her family. "Timmy, or Amy?"

"All of the above," said a voice behind them. "Go say hi to your Aunt Alex, guys," her brother John added as the three people standing by Goren's car turned to watch as John's family piled out of the van that had just pulled in.

Two children, both about five years old and both dark-haired and bright-eyed, came hurtling out from behind his legs, heading for Alex. Knowing the children didn't understand the concept of broken bones plus flying kids equalling pain, Alex took a step back and glanced at her mother, who reached out and snagged Timmy as he flew past, sweeping him into her arms.

"Robert, would you . . .?" Molly began as Amy, the slightly slower runner, approached.

Bobby copied her movements, plucking Amy off of the ground easily. "Hello," he said when the little girl stared at his face in confusion.

"Who're you?" the girl demanded.

"That, sweetheart," John said as he relieved the stranger of his daughter, "is a very good question." Turning to Alex, he raised his eyebrows. "I second the inquiry," he told her, patting Amy's back as he eyed his sister and her companion curiously.

"Jonathan!" his mother, sounding scandalized. "Pretend you have some manners!"

"Sorry," he said, chastened, as he turned to face Goren. "John Eames," he said. "I'd shake your hand, but this one," he said, jiggling the little girl in his arms, "requires both hands to control."

"Daddy!" Amy squealed, crossing her arms against his chest and trying her best to glare up at him. "Who is he?"

"Stupid!" her brother accused from his grandmother's arms a safe distance away. "He was there when Aunt Alex got hurted." Looking from his sister to Goren, who was watching the exchange and looking slightly shell-shocked, he added, "But I don't know your name, mister."

"Ok, ok," Alex said, stifling a laugh at the expression on her partner's face. "Enough, you guys. John, I thought you already met my partner, Bobby?"

John's eyes widened and he let out a long, "Ohhhh!"

"Idiot," Alex said affectionately, stepping forward to give him a one-armed hug around Amy's body. "Where's Laura?"

"Laura," said a woman with riotously curly red hair as she appeared behind John, "got stuck with the kids' stuff while the big galoot," she said, nodding to John, "ran ahead to say hi to you." She pointedly let the knapsack on her shoulder drop onto John's foot to punctuate to her statement.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, hamming up the pain for the sake of his children's amusement. "That wasn't nice."

"I would have done the same thing," Alex informed him with a grin. "You know better than to make her carry everything. Laura," she added, leaning carefully forward to hug her sister-in-law, "you look great."

"Yeah? I call it 'post-tantrum chic'," Laura replied with an answering smile. "Note the fried hair and mismatched socks."

"Right, because I look like a fashion plate," Alex retorted, looking down at what had become her uniform in the past week: a pair of Goren's sweatpants, rolled up within an inch of their life, and an equally oversized, worn shirt that had also once belonged to him.

"You do look kinda scary," John agreed teasingly. "Lose a lot of weight recently?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Can we go inside?" she asked, turning to her mother. "I would dearly love to sit down right about now."

"Of course, honey! Do you have anything you need carried in?"

"Just my . . ." she started, breaking off when Bobby raised one hand to show her her purse, which he'd remembered to grab from the car. "Yeah, that."

Goren thought he saw a smirk on her brother's face, but it disappeared quickly as the whole group trailed their matriarch into the Eames home.


	20. Introductions

A/N: Damn, I could fill up a whole book with just wacky family moments. Oh, well...at least they're funny (I think)!

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The inside of the Eames house seemed to Bobby to have the air of a carnival, with people sprawled on every surface and strange shrieks and groans coming from various corners. As he followed Alex through the foyer into a large living room, he watched a child shoot up into the air as if tossed, then fall back down with a joyful scream. To his other side, three women, one of them obviously pregnant, sat together on a couch looking gossipy.

"Bobby?" Alex said, drawing his attention back to her. "You ok over there?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah."

"Scary, aren't they?" she asked with a grin. "But they don't bite. Except maybe for Ashley - Rob's youngest. She's three and just discovering that biting people tends to get them to do what she wants. Ummm . . ." she added, looking around at the sea of faces, "there, that's her," she said, pointing to an angelic-looking little girl with cornsilk-blonde hair. "Don't let her innocent face fool you."

"She bites?"

"Only sometimes. Come on," she urged, taking his arm and pulling him toward the kitchen, where they found two of the women he'd seen on the couch a few seconds ago seated at the kitchen table, while Alex's mother stood by the stove with an older man who Bobby was pretty sure he recognized as her father.

"Alex!" her father cried when he caught sight of her, oblivious to the fact that he had just elbowed aside his wife to get to his daughter. "What the hell are you wearing?" he said as he pulled her into a hug.

She grinned. "Can't wear anything tight with my ribs, Dad. Now if you'll let me . . . oof . . . go for a second, I'll introduce you to Bobby."

"I know who he is." He released Alex and turned to Bobby, giving his hand an enthusiastic shake. "Johnny Eames. I don't think I ever got a chance to thank you for saving my little girl."

Bobby could only stand there dumbly, knowing he looked ridiculous yet unable to think of a more appropriate response. "Uh . . ."

"Dad!" Alex groaned, putting her face in her hands. "Don't embarrass him!"

"Yeah, Dad," echoed one of the women at the table. "We've been telling you for years you have no tact."

"Katherine," Johnny said huffily, "I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself when it comes to how I react to your sister almost getting killed."

"I'm with Kate," Alex said with a smirk, moving to stand next to where her sister sat and pulling Bobby with her. "Sometimes I really wish the men in our family were the strong, silent type."

"_Never _gonna happen," snorted a pixie-faced girl sitting at the table. "This mob is incapable of doing anythingquietly." She pushed her long reddish-brown hair behind her ears and leaned back in her chair to observe with interest everyone's reactions to her statement.

"Says the girl who spends more time on the phone every day than sleeping," teased Kate, pointing to the cell phone which lay on the table in front of her daughter.

"I'm sixteen, Ma! That's what I'm supposed to do! I'm talking about all you _old_ people."

"You're gonna be old one day, too, Sam," Alex pointed out. "Then what are you going to do?"

"I've got time," the girl said philosophically. "So this is the guy who saved you, Aunt Alex?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Yes, I guess he is. But I wish you'd all stop talking like I was some damsel in distress."

"Well, weren't you?" asked a man in his late twenties from the doorway as he hooked his fingers into the molding on the top edge and leaned forward, stretching his lithe frame. After a few seconds, he dropped his arms and moved further into the room, slipping agilely past Molly to tear off a piece of the loaf of soda bread that sat on the counter, adding as he went, "They way I hear it, you'd be dead if it wasn't for him."

Bobby, who had been watching the discussion with terrified fascination, tried to place this new face. The man's dark, almost black, hair, green eyes, and above-average height didn't much resemble the members of the Eames clan Bobby had met so far, but . . . well, he had to be related _somehow_. Bobby just couldn't place him. Realizing he'd been staring, he found his voice and told the younger man, "I didn't really _save_ her. I just . . ."

Alex copied her brother's actions and snitched a piece of bread for herself, tearing it in half and popping one part into her mouth. "You did too," she mumbled through the mouthful. "I just don't like admitting that I needed someone to do the saving."

"Well -"

Without warning, she reached up and stuffed the other half of her bread into his mouth, admonishing, "Stop being stupid, Bobby. You know how much worse things could have gone if you weren't there."

He stared down at her in silent surprise as he chewed the bread.

"Ah, yes," the younger man said, his eyes gleaming as he threw an arm around his sister's shoulders. "Alex strikes again with the aggressive feeding. Usually she only does it to me and Beth," he explained to Bobby. "Something about 'older sister habit'. Which leads me to ask, is she older than you?"

"Sean!" Alex and Molly chorused.

He grinned irreverently. "Sorry, sorry. Just curious whether you make him eat, too."

"Lately, it's been _him _trying to make _me _eat," Alex told him with a half-hearted scowl. "Believe me when I say that Vicodin does not enhance the appetite. And no, I'm not older than him, thank you very much."

"Aunt Alex?" Samantha spoke up from the table.

"Hmm?" she responded, releasing Sean from her death glare and turning to her niece.

"I think we're scaring . . . I'm sorry," she broke off, looking at Bobby, "what was your name, again?"

"Bobby."

"Right, right. I think we're scaring Bobby already, Aunt Alex, and you've only been here five minutes."

Alex glanced up at Bobby's face, noting that, while he didn't look unhappy, he did look both confused and wary. "Damn, I'm sorry," she told him. "You probably don't remember anyone, do you?"

"Uh, well . . . I think I've got your parents pegged," he replied weakly, gesturing toward where Molly and Johnny stood. "But the rest of them . . ."

"Geez, Al," Sean teased. "And you're always harping on _me _about manners! I'm Sean," he said, nodding at Bobby. "Alex's youngest brother."

"One brother out of entirely too many," Kate said with a grin, making the words sound slightly ominous. "Whereas I'm one of Alex's only two sisters. Kate Pritchard," she informed Bobby. Tilting her head to indicate the the girl sitting next to her, she added, "And this is my daughter, Sam."

Sam gave him a little wave, acknowledging her mother's introduction. "They get over-excited," she told Bobby apologetically, looking at the family members scattered around the room. "And speaking of over-excited, just a quick warning: I'd stay away from the kids and the dogs, if I were you."

He blinked. "Should I ask why that is?"

"The kids'll puke on you, and the dogs'll steal your dinner," Alex filled in with a laugh. "But we usually don't warn visitors beforehand."

"Hey," Sam said with a shrug, "he looks like he can use all the information he can get before we throw him to the wolves."

"Sam!" Kate exclaimed, glaring at her daughter. "Go . . . paint your nails, or play with the kids, or something. Leave the adults alone for a while."

"Adults," Sam snorted. "You know, I don't enjoy baby puke any more than the rest of you," she said archly, even as she obediently stood up. "Where's Adam? He's probably found a good hiding spot by now."

"The last I saw of him, he was huddled in the basement with his laptop and your father," Johnny told her. "Something about Java coding."

"Well, the basement usually works for keeping ourselves hidden, at least until dinner is served," Sam said with a sigh. "If you need me - for something that doesn't involve babies, that is - that's where I'll be. Oh, and Aunt Alex," she added, stepping forward to give her aunt a cautious hug, "I'm really glad you're ok." With that, she was gone, leaving the room's other six occupants staring after her bemusedly.

"You guys all have weird kids, you know that?" Alex told the room at large. Turning to Bobby, she said, "Sam's an outspoken opponent of gender segregation at family get-togethers."

"She just hates having to make nice with five thousand people at once," Sean said with a shrug. "Can you blame the girl?"

"You're a bad influence on her," Kate informed him, tossing a handy packet of sugar at his head. "I swear, she was all sweetness and light until she met you."

"Which would have given her . . . what? Four days of not being a smartass before you brought her home from the hospital?" Alex said, dropping into the chair Samantha had vacated.

"Something like that," Kate admitted sheepishly. "Hey, Bobby, there's plenty of chairs," she said, noticing that he was standing awkwardly behind Alex's chair. Pulling out the empty chair between her and her sister, she added, "Have a seat."

"Uh, thank you." He sat, taking the opportunity to look around the room at what still seemed to him to be entirely too many people to be in a room that wasn't a crime scene.

"You're studying them, Bobby. Go ahead," Alex told him, noticing his scrutiny and deciding to play with him a little. "Tell me who's who."

Bobby swallowed. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. You don't get to hide behind the 'I'm too worried about you to remember names, Alex' excuse anymore."

Stung by the fact that she'd thrown back at him the dead serious explanation he'd given her earlier in the day, he sighed and looked away from her. "Kate - Katherine," he began tentatively, pointing to the woman next to him. "Samantha's yours?"

"Yep, and her brother Adam. My husband's apparently gone into hiding with the kids, but his name's Cort if you come across him."

"And you're Sean," he went on, looking over his shoulder at the young man who Kate had labeled a 'bad influence.'

"Very good," the man replied with an approving nod. "The ladies _do_ tell me I'm hard to forget," he added, pretending to preen.

"And 'the ladies' will also tell you," Alex spoke up, rolling her eyes, "why he hasn't managed to get his girlfriend to marry him yet."

"Hey, leave Jo out of this."

"Did I hear my name?" asked a pretty young woman as she entered the room and walked over to put her arm around Sean's waist.

Bobby stifled a groan. _Not another one! How many more people are crammed into this house? _

"Hon," Sean said to the girl, pouting comically, "Alex brought her partner with her, and instead of introducing the poor guy around, she was going on about how I can't talk you into getting married."

"Oh," the woman said impassively, turning her head to look at the pair sitting at the table. She was obviously used to the non sequiturs the family frequently threw out. "You must be Bobby, then," she added, giving Goren a smile. "I'm Joanna. Nice to meet you."

"Jo's a little too normal compared to the rest of us," Kate said with a smirk, "but we like her better than Sean, anyway, so we let her hang around."

"Kate!" Molly reprimanded over the laughter that followed Kate's comment.

"Hold on a sec," Alex broke in. "Bobby didn't finish naming everyone." She turned to look at her partner expectantly, perfectly aware that he had been hoping she'd forget. "Go on," she ordered.

He sighed and pointed to her parents, who had spent the past few minutes simply observing the conversation with pained looks on their faces. "Mr. and Mrs. Eames. Your parents."

"Good," Alex said approvingly. "Now, give me a hand up, would you?" she added, extending her hand to show that she wanted him to help her stand up.

"Alex, you _just _sat down!" Molly exclaimed. "Relax for a while, for god's sake!"

"In a minute, Mom. Bobby?"

Glancing at her mother's worried face, Bobby reluctantly stood and helped Alex up. "We don't have to -"

"Come on," she interrupted impatiently, taking his hand and beginning to pull him toward the doorway. "We'll be back in a little while," she told her parents over her shoulder. "Try not to have a panic attack while I'm gone, any of you."

"Where are we going?" Bobby asked quietly as she led him out of the room. "I didn't mind . . . we could have . . ."

"I know," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "You're doing great. I just figured I'd give you a little time to decompress before you meet the rest of the family."

"Uh . . . how many more are there?"

"That you haven't met? Or that weren't in the kitchen?" She turned right into a hallway that led deeper into the house.

"That weren't in the kitchen."

"Let's see . . . Cort and Adam, Kate told you about them . . . John and Laura and their twins, but you already met them . . . Rob and Jen, who have Ashley - the biter - Conner, and one on the way . . . and Beth, Mark, and Nathan." Her voice softened on the last name.

Catching the change in her tone, he looked down at her as she pulled him into a darkened room. "Nathan is . . .?"

"Yeah. He's starting to really talk now," she said with wistful pride.

He smiled with real warmth. "I'm looking forward to meeting him. Now, why exactly did you drag me back here to . . ." He took a moment to survey his surroundings and guessed, ". . . your old bedroom?"

She shrugged. "Habit. Where else would I take you, the bathroom? I wanted to get you out of the chaos for a minute and check in to make sure you're not hating it too much here."

He looked at her in mild surprise. "I don't hate it at all. I'm . . . not good at it, and I don't know how to respond to a lot of the stuff people are saying . . . but in between those moments, it's actually kind of . . . comfortable."

Alex let out the breath she felt like she'd been holding since they entered the house. "Good. I happen to think you're handling everyone really well, by the way. The trick is, if you don't know what to say, don't say anything. Within two seconds, someone else will start yammering and you'll be forgotten."

"Ok. How are your ribs feeling?' he asked, uncomfortable with trying to explain his thoughts about her family, before she could ask him another question.

"They hurt, but not too bad. I'm still a little goofy from the Vicodin I took before you picked me up, though, so grab me if I start to walk into a wall or something. But hey, you just reminded me of something Rob suggested earlier - if you decide you want to get out of here, at any point tonight - it gets too weird, or you're tired, or whatever - just tell me and I'll announce that I'm exhausted and you have to bring me home."

"I wouldn't make you leave your family," he said, offended at her suggestion that he would.

"Just keep it in mind, ok?"

"I guess. But I'm not going to -"

"Bobby?"

He paused mid-sentence and looked at her, wary at the sudden change in her tone of voice. ". . . Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming." She slid her arms around his waist and gave him as hard a hug as she could manage without hurting herself.

Caught by surprise, he could only stare down at her head where it nestled against his chest. When she didn't let go after a long second, he moved one hand up to pry her head away from him so he could see her face. "You're welcome, but it's just a dinner . . ."

"Oh, bull. When was the last time you voluntarily subjected yourself to a mob of excitable Irish relatives? Yeah," she said, nodding, when he looked doubtful, "that's what I thought. It _does_ matter, what you're doing."

He considered her words but didn't say anything, and when she looked at him expectantly a few seconds later, he shrugged and told her, "I'm waiting for someone else to start talking like you said they would."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, bite me. Could you _be_ any moreoverly_-_literal?"

"Well," he said slowly, almost sensing the invisible devil landing on his shoulder and starting to whisper in his ear, "yes, actually." Before she could ask what he meant, he lowered his head and nipped her ear. "See?" he whispered into it a moment later.

She shivered and stared up at him as he raised his head away from hers. "Bobby!"

"Sorry." He was glad the room was in shadow, so she couldn't see the blush that rose on his face when he realized what he'd just done. "I, uh . . ."

Raising a hand to rub her ear where his teeth had just been, she frowned at him. "Come here," she ordered, crooking the index finger of her free hand. "Down," she clarified when he looked at her confusedly, adding, "No, more," when he bent over a mere inch.

"Um . . ." He guardedly did as she asked, not sure what she was planning on doing to get back at him, but pretty sure he wasn't going to like it.

"There," she said, putting a hand on his chest to stop him when his face was within an inch of hers. "Good." Now that his head was at a convenient level for her, she could gain her revenge. Laying a hand on his cheek, she smiled slightly. "Scared of what I'm going to do to you?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she teased softly, "I'd say 'I don't bite,' but . . ." While he waited for her to continue her sentence, she caught him off guard by kissing him lightly.

"Ale-" he tried to mumble as she used the hand on his cheek to force him to stay still.

She removed her hand and, at the same time, bit down on his lower lip, not enough to draw blood but enough that he felt a jolt of pain.

"Ow!" He jerked away from her, putting a hand to his mouth. "That wasn't -"

"Daddy!" a high-pitched voice suddenly screeched from the doorway. "I saw Aunt Alex bite her friend _on the mouth_!"

They both flinched, pulling apart and turning toward the door, where a tiny girl with pale blonde hair stood, grinning widely.

"Hello, Ashley," Alex said with a sigh.


	21. Kids say the darndest things

A few seconds before, the comforting sound of chatter from the rest of the house had been drifting into Alex's old bedroom, but following Ashley's announcement, there was only silence, and lots of it.

"Hi, Aunt Alex!" the little girl chirped, walking into the room and holding up her arms expectantly to Alex.

Reminding herself that Ashley had no idea what she had just seen, and therefore she and Bobby had no reason to be embarrassed, Alex reached down to stroke her niece's silky hair. "I'm sorry, honey, I can't pick you up," she told her, doing her best to crouch down to the girl's eye level instead.

"Oh," Ashley said with a slight pout. "Why not?"

To the surprise of everyone in the room, including himself, Bobby reached down and picked the girl up, holding her so her head was level with his and she could see Alex's face once Alex stood up. "Your aunt got hurt. Her arms aren't strong enough to pick up any little girls yet."

Ashley looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded, apparently satisfied with this explanation, and watched Alex slowly rise from her crouch. "I remember now. You went to the hospital."

"That's right, Ash," Alex said. "Now, what are you doing wandering around the house? Where's your mom?"

"She's talking to Aunt Laura about babies," Ashley said, wrinkling her nose. "_Again_. How come you bit your friend, Aunt Alex?"

She should have known better than to hope the girl would be easily distracted. "I, uh . . ." _Think fast, Alex!_

She could have kissed her brother when he appeared in the doorway a second later. "Ashley, what did I tell you about -" He broke off when he realized that his daughter wasn't just alone and causing trouble, as he'd expected. "Did I hear her yell something about biting?" he asked Alex suspiciously.

"I didn't _yell_, Daddy!" Ashley insisted, giving Bobby an absentminded kick in the ribs as she reached for her father. "I just _said _that she bit him."

Alex covered her face with her hands and tried to decide whether to scream or laugh.

She pressed her face into her palms more firmly when she heard Rob ask, "Who bit who?" He already knew the answer; her brother might be dense when it came to a lot of things, but he had a highly attuned sense of hearing when it came to his kids.

Accepting Ashley's squirming body from Bobby, he balanced her on his hip and regarded the two people standing in front of him as the little girl said, sounding exasperated, "Aunt Alex! She bit that guy on the mouth!" For good measure, she pointed to Bobby as she spoke.

"She did, did she?" Rob asked with a grin, watching as Alex tried to hide behind her partner. "Now, why would you do that, Alex?"

"Go away."

"Daddy," Ashley said, patting his face to get his attention. "Is Mommy done talking about babies yet?"

He blinked. "I don't know, hon. Why don't you go check?" he suggested, setting her on her feet and watching as she ran out of the room, narrowly missing going headfirst into the corner as she tried to make a fast left turn out the door.

"Now," he went on when she was out of earshot, "you guys want to explain what it was that she just saw? Am I going to need to get her therapy?"

"No," Alex shot back, "and no. None of your business."

"You know, I don't usually make a habit of bringing my partners home, taking them into dark rooms, and biting them," he told her casually. "Or kissing them, as the case may be. Is this a new trend I haven't heart about?"

"Good thing you don't make a habit of it, since I hear divorce sucks. Now go away. We were about to go back to join the party anyway."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Uh-huh. Hey, don't let me interrupt whatever it was you were doing to the guy. Far be it from me - ow!" He took a step back from her and rubbed his shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be limiting your violent movements?"

"I make exceptions when necessary," she retorted, rubbing her fist and hoping she hadn't poked another hole in her lung.

Bobby, who had been watching the exchange nervously, took that moment to step in front of her, blocking her access to Rob, and force her hand down to her side. "He's right, you know. You're going to regret that punch in an hour or two."

"Oh, wonderful," she groaned. "Take his side, why don't you?"

"I'm not taking . . ."

"Relax, brat," Rob told her, interrupting Bobby's weak protestations. "I'll let it go for now, as long as you promise not to traumatize my daughter any more tonight."

She snorted. "Like this family isn't traumatizing enough as it is."

"Ok, you've got a point there," he admitted. "You guys really going to come back out? When I left they were talking about organizing a search party to hunt you down. Interest in your partner here," he added, nodding toward Bobby, "is running high, especially among the women."

When both of them reacted to that statement with groans, he grinned and shrugged. "Hey, it could be worse. Be glad that the only single ones here are all either underage or taken."

That got a laugh out of Alex, who remembered with amusement the numerous times she'd seen Bobby try to handle amorous women who fixed their sights on him. "I don't know . . . that might just keep me entertained enough to not kick your ass."

"Very funny." Rob turned away from her and headed out of the room, checking once to make sure she and Bobby were following. "Brace yourselves," he added just before they entered the living room, where the family had gathered.

Alex responded to that warning with a sigh, causing Bobby to give her an alarmed look. What were they about to walk into?

He found out when they walked into the room a few seconds later: what they had walked into had to be, quite simply, an exercise in oversized telephone booth stuffing. Twenty people and three dogs were crammed into the room, sitting on couches, kitchen chairs, recliners, and the floor. Four children were crawling around the carpet apparently imitating animals, which involved much arm-waving and growling, while two dogs bounced around them, fascinated by this weird human behavior. A third dog was sitting at Sam's feet, fixated on the piece of bread she held and was teasing him with.

The noise level could only be described as cacophonous. As he stood in the doorway next to Alex, Bobby heard, mixed in with the squeaks and growls from the kids and dogs, snatches of conversations that couldn't possibly be related:

- ". . . And so I told her - I told her, 'Jackie, she's only four! You can't give her real gold!'"

- ". . . program hung four times because the doofus here didn't realize he wrote an infinite loop."

- "Timmy, don't you dare - no! Stop that!"

- "So, when are you due?"

- ". . . can't stand when he acts like it's not a big deal to go undercover . . ."

- "You know, that guy she brought, he's -"

Bobby strained his ears to hear the rest of that last statement, but it was drowned out by a general cry of, "Alex!" as the first few people began to spot her.

A tall blonde woman who he would have classified as willowy had she not had an about-to-burst pregnant belly, attempted to jump to her feet, a feat which she achieved only with the help of a judicious push from behind by her husband. "Alex! Get over here!"

Unsure what to do with Bobby, Alex glanced up to check his expression before she decided whether to obey Jen's summons. To her relief, as if on cue, Sean shouted from his perch on the arm of the couch, "Hey, Bobby! You used to be a narc? Get over here!" Waving his arm in an enthusiastic 'come on' gesture, her motioned for Bobby to join the small knot of men surrounding him.

Alex mouthed a _thank you _to her brother, who contrived to look oblivious that he'd done anything out of the ordinary, and turned back to her sister-in-law. "You look like you're about to pop!" she told Jen with a grin.  
"Believe me, I'm starting to wish I would. You'd think that by the third time I'd get used to swollen ankles and having to pee every three minutes, but noooo . . ."

"Oh god, don't remind me. I swear, if I ever do it again, I'm making sure I have a husband who'll cater to my every whim and indulge my every whine."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby approached Sean and his companions cautiously, not sure how to act without Alex there as a buffer. "Uh, yeah. I spent a couple years in Narcotics."

"See?" Sean said to the dark-haired man sitting next to him, whom Bobby didn't recognize. Turning back to Bobby, he added, "Did you ever do undercover work?"

"That's a crap question," John snorted. "Everyone's done _some _kind of undercover."

"Well I'm just _saying _that in Narcotics the guys get to do it more often, and Jo's freaking out on me . . ." Catching Bobby's confused expression, he added, "Oh, sorry. I just made detective and they're assigning me to Narcotics. My girlfriend's worried because she thinks undercover work is impossibly dangerous."

Bobby thought about that. "Well, I suppose it is. It's just . . . you have to have the right personality for it."

"Yeah?" said the unfamiliar man. "What constitutes the right personality? I'm Mark, by the way," he added.

He thought about that for a second. "Acting ability helps. You have to be adaptable, at the very least, and have a good poker face."

"All of which I have," Sean told the rest of the group. "I'm good at it, so I don't get why she's so mad."

"You don't _get _it?" Jo yelled from across the room, where she'd been engaged in conversation with Samantha but overheard Sean's words. "What's not to get? You're going to get shot, Sean! You!" she said sharply, pointing at Bobby and demanding, "Did you ever get shot while you were undercover?"

He tried not to recoil when he realized that the attention of the entire room was now directed at him. Why had the girl had to speak so damn_ loud_? "Uh, well . . . no, I didn't."

Jo looked mildly disappointed and Sean was beginning to look triumphant when Alex looked up from her examination of Jen's swollen joints and announced, "That's a technicality, Bobby. He didn't get shot, but he got knifed," she told Jo. "He's got a scar on -" Realizing what she'd been about to say, she broke off that sentence before she could incriminate herself any further, instead going on, "Undercover _is _dangerous, but just try to convince any of the men of that. It's a macho thing."

"Oh, come on!" retorted Rob. "Out of all of us, you're the _only _one who made a career of parading on street corners hoping to get picked up by criminals. And you're saying _our _undercover work is dangerous?"

"Yeah, I am. Mine was too. The difference is, I'm willing to admit that it was nerve-wracking and I had some moments that were scary as hell."

"Like whenever you were in those go-go boots you used to wear?" Kate said with a smirk. "Those were dangerous to the eyesight of anyone with good taste."

Alex smirked back. "Those things got me a hell of a lot of customers. Don't knock 'em."

"Go-go boots?" Bobby repeated blankly. "You wore go-go boots?"

"You didn't know?" John asked with a wide grin. "She went all-out. We have pictures somewhere around here . . ."

"No!" Alex said, standing up to slap a hand over her brother's mouth. "_No _picture showing tonight, thank you very much."

"We could show him your naked baby pictures, instead," Rob said, putting a hand to his mouth thoughtfully.

"_No!" _Alex shouted, whirling to face the new threat. "Not those either! And stop trying to annoy me when Jo and I are having a serious discussion about how likely it is that Sean will get hurt."

"Uh, Alex?" said Laura tentatively. "Not to sound like I'm on their side or anything, but you're the one who got hurt recently. Maybe we should be more concerned about Sean working major cases, instead of drugs."

As she tried to think of a good retort to that, Alex realized that her heart wasn't beating fast just because she was annoyed - the pain in her side was back and gnawing at her. Letting out a frustrated growl, she put a hand to her ribs and stomped toward the kitchen, leaving her confused family behind her.

"Is she . . .?" Jo began, watching Alex's retreating back with concern.

"She's ok," Bobby said reassuringly, although he was fighting the urge to jump up and go after her to make sure of it. "Her painkiller's wearing off; she's probably taking another dose."

"Yeah, plus punching me can't have been good for her," Rob announced with a grin.

"She hit you?" Adam asked with sudden interest from the corner where he and his sister had been watching the family with angsty teenage expressions. "What'd you do to get her to do that?"

He couldn't answer that in mixed company, Rob decided. His wife would kill him, both for baiting Alex so crudely and for announcing it to the whole family. Besides, half of the duo in question was standing not four feet from him. "We had, uh . . . a small disagreement a little while ago."

"A 'small disagreement'?" echoed Sean, who was eager to grab onto any subject change that came along. "Sounds interesting. Exactly what were you disagreeing about?"

Rob's eyes darted to his wife, who gave him a cool look, to Bobby, who looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, and then back to his brother's face. "Er . . . biting."

"What, did Ashley bite her?" said Beth with a grin. "I swear, if Nate goes through a biting stage, I'm sending him to live with you until he outgrows it."

"Hey!" exclaimed Ashley, pausing in her romp with one of the dogs to look up offendedly. "I didn't bite _nobody _tonight. Right, Daddy?"

"Uh, right, sweetie," Rob said, wondering if it would be considered abusive to tape his child's mouth shut occasionally. "Ash, why don't you -"

"I didn't bite nobody," the little girl repeated. "Aunt Alex bit her friend, though. Are you gonna give her a time out for it?"

There was silence for a long moment before Sean said carefully, "Your Aunt Alex bit her friend?"

"Yes! On the m-"

"That's quite enough of that," Rob interrupted, leaning over to pick her up and, incidentally, cover her mouth with one hand. "We don't need to tell everyone everything, Ash, remember?" When she nodded yes, he smiled at her and removed his hand. "Good girl. Uh, why don't you . . ." he began, looking up to see who wasn't in the room who he could send her to bother.

"I'll take her," Beth offered after a sympathetic glance at Bobby. "C'mon, Ashley, what do you say we take the dogs for a walk?"

Ashley squealed excitedly at the prospect and grabbed the ear of the nearest dog. George, a slightly disreputable-looking Irish Wolfhound, was a six-year veteran of the Eames family and its children; he yipped in pain and shook his head, but made no move to hurt the squealing thing that was attacking him.

"Note to self," Kate announced, "buy extra dog biscuits."

"And a stun gun," added Sam. "Preferably one calibrated to work on children."

"I think I'll go check on Alex," Bobby announced, trying to sound casual, into the silence that followed that comment. The illusion was ruined by the speed with which he exited the room, though, and he heard a few snorts and giggles behind him as he fled in the direction of the kitchen.


	22. Bribery by brownie

He found her leaning against the kitchen counter, face tight and arms wrapped around her waist. In the voluminous clothes she wore, she seemed to be almost disappearing into herself as she bent slightly over to relieve the pressure on her ribs. He thought he might have heard her whimper before she realized he was there, but he couldn't be sure.

"Hey," he said quietly, leaning to the side so he could see her face as he approached her. Noticing that there was a definite tremor to her fingers, he moved closer and rubbed her arms with his hands. "That bad?"

"I'll be ok," she muttered. "Just waiting for the pills to start working."

When raised her head a second later, the reassurance her voice had given him was banished by the look on her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, and he was sure that the inside edges of her lashes were wet with tears. Her cheeks were pale and her jaw was clenched in an effort to stave off the pain. "You shouldn't have hit your brother," he said after a moment's observation of her, unable to think of anything else to say that wouldn't make it sound like he was pitying her. "You made it worse."

"Yeah, well, if you want to rewind time, I'll consider not doing it this time. Otherwise, you're just going to have to deal with it."

That wasn't what he had meant, but they both knew that already. "How long will the Vicodin take to kick in?" he asked instead of responding to her sarcasm.

She shook her head. "Maybe five, ten minutes for it to start. Is everybody in there wondering where I went?" She looked over his shoulder to the doorway that lead to the living room, half-expecting to see a row of faces watching them.

"I told them you needed another painkiller. They understand. One of your sisters . . . I think it was, uh, Beth . . . she was going to take Ashley to walk the dogs."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"If they're getting rid of her, that probably means she said something she wasn't supposed to." With a sigh, she rested her elbows back against the counter. "She went and yelled something about me biting you, didn't she."

"Uh, yeah."

"Wonderful," she said resignedly. "I'm never going to live this down."

He thought about that for a second. "Probably not, no. But they wouldn't hold it against you, would they?"

"Hold it 'against' me, no," she said, "but hold it in reserve for the next time I bring a boyfriend home and won't let them show my baby pictures? Definitely."

"You bring boyfriends home a lot?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice light.

She gave him a knowing look and shook her head. "Nah. There aren't many guys who are man enough to survive dinner with my family."

"Well, they haven't scared me away yet," he said, annoyed with himself for actually getting a bit of an ego boost at her statement.

Before she could answer, a voice from the living room bellowed, "Alex!"

"What?" she yelled back without bothering to move, momentarily forgetting that Bobby wasn't used to screaming as a means of everyday conversation.

Instead of an answer, they heard the sound of Molly scolding the shouter: "Sean! She's ten feet away, there's no need to yell everyone's ear off." Then raising her voice, she said to Alex, "Are you ok, honey? Need any help?"

"I'm fine, Ma." She looked at Bobby, who, to his credit, was managing not to look shocked at the increased decibel level. "Help me get in there?"

"Are you sure you feel good enough to go back in? I don't want you to overdo it, and -"

"Zip it, Goren. I'm fine, or at least I will be fine - and stoned - in a few minutes. Just give me a hand walking in, please?" she said quietly. "I don't want them to start fussing over me."

With a resigned nod, he put his arm around her waist, a position which was beginning to feel strangely normal to him, and allowed her to lean her weight on him. "Ready?"

"Yeah." They shuffled awkwardly into the living room, not looking at its other occupants until Alex had been deposited on the couch in a spot Rob had hastily vacated when he saw her coming. She sank into the cushions with what she hoped was a muffled sigh, glad that Bobby remained beside her, perching on the arm of the couch with his arm around her shoulders.

"Damn, you look like a zombie," remarked Kate as she studied Alex's face. "And I mean that in the most sisterly, affectionate way possible."

"A zombie," Alex repeated thoughtfully. "I think I'd rather be a vampire, if I'm going to be counted as one of the undead."

"I vote 'wraith,'" Sam volunteered. "Because that covers the air of helplessness, too. Not that I'm saying you're helpless," she added preemptively, "but right now, you look like the kind of person I'd give up a seat on the subway to."

"Gee, I love you too," Alex said with pleasant sarcasm. "But for the record, I'm not dead yet, so I can't be one of the undead, no matter what kind."

"Seriously, Alex," John said, "_are _you ok? The way you hightailed it out of here a few minutes ago, I thought you had to throw up or something."

She shuddered at the thought. "God, no - and don't curse me by suggesting it. I just needed to take another painkiller because the one I took this afternoon was wearing off."

"You still need them, then?" Rob asked, sounding slightly worried by the prospect. "It's been weeks! How long before you start to feel normal again?"

"Ask my ribs," she said flippantly. "I just do what they scream at me to do. And really, I _do _feel normal most of the time. Just not the times when I, uh . . ."

". . . don't?" supplied Sean with a grin. "That's not terribly reassuring, sis."

"Stop worrying. In half an hour, you're all going to be howling with laughter at how loopy I get. I took a whole pill this time, instead of the half I cut down to this week. You guys are hard on a body."

That was the wrong thing to say; the next few seconds were filled with people talking over one another while trying to express their concern:

- "Oh, honey, at least let me get you a pillow for your back," Molly said pleadingly.

- "You're an idiot," Rob informed Alex, raising his voice to be heard over his mother's kinder words. "You only hurt _yourself_ when you punched me."

- "We need to put you on a leash, I think," John told her, nodding in agreement with Rob's _idiot _comment. "Since you can't seem to control yourself and all."

- "Al," Johnny boomed over the other voices, "you have _got _to go back to the doctor. You shouldn't be in this much pain after so long!"

- "Hey!" Joanna yelled over the crowd after glancing at Sean and getting a nod from him. "You guys all know that if she was sitting there on a pillow, not moving for fear of hurting herself, you'd be a hell of a lot _more _worried about her."

That comment yielded silence as everyone avoided agreeing with Jo's obviously-true point. "She's right," Sean said firmly after no one spoke up to contradict his girlfriend's words. "When has Alex _ever _let an injury slow her down? Remember when she sprained her ankle playing soccer at that one family reunion but didn't tell anyone until she finished the game?" he asked, looking around at his brothers and sisters.

"Oh god," Alex groaned in amazement, "that had to be at least fifteen years ago, Sean!"

"Ok," Beth said agreeably, "then how about the time you got roughed up on hooker duty and you called me to bring you some makeup to cover it, instead of taking the rest of the night off like everyone wanted you to?"

"What?" Bobby and Molly exclaimed in unison. "Alexandra!" Molly went on. "You _never _told me that someone hit you! Johnny," she added, throwing up her hands and fixing a glare on her husband, "didn't I always say I didn't want her out there because it was too dangerous? I _told _you, Alex!"

"Mom!" Alex groaned. "In case you hadn't noticed, it wasn't on the street that I ended up getting really hurt."

"Oh, great," Sean muttered, "you keep reminding her of that and she's not going to let anyof us even do _desk duty_ anymore."

"I'm not that bad!" Molly insisted. "Besides, I'm your mother, it's my job to be overprotective. Stop trying to make me feel guilty," she added with a scolding look. "And I swear, the only person in this room besides me who seems to be concerned about Alex at all is her partner!" Turning to Bobby, she gave him an approving smile. "Speaking of which, I'm setting aside an extra serving of dessert with your name on it."

"Oh, great," Kate sighed, "she's been reduced to bribery."

"Now that you brought it up, Grandma," Adam spoke up, "what _is _for dessert?"

"Jen made a cherry pie," Rob said.

"We brought brownies," Sean threw in, glancing at his girlfriend. "With icing."

"Beth tried out a new pound cake recipe," Mark said.

"The kids and I made cookies," Laura said with amusement. "Looks like 'extra dessert' isn't going to make a very effective bribe, Molly."

"Oh, go check on the roast or something," Molly ordered, giving her daughter-in-law a mildly annoyed look. "You kids today have no respect for your elders," she added as Laura rolled her eyes and obeyed the order.

"Stop the presses!" Johnny exclaimed excitedly. "I'm calling the AARP to report that comment."

"Bite your tongue, Dad!" Kate said with a smirk. "Mom will never, ever acknowledge that she's over 55."

"Yeah, even though being under 55 means she was a _very _precocious kid, to turn out six of us," John added with a grin.

"Roast's done!" Laura shouted from the kitchen. "Move 'em out!"

In response to her yell, people all over the room began bouncing to their feet looking vaguely excited. "Dinner's ready," Alex translated for Bobby. "Help me up and I'll guard you when we get into the dining room."

"Uh . . . guard?" he asked uneasily, hauling her to feet with more force than finesse.

"They have a tendency to push first and apologize later," she explained. "And for the record, the pill's officially starting to kick in, since it didn't hurt when you just yanked me off the couch."

"Sorry," he said with a wince as he realized that he really had pulled a little too hard. "Which way to the dining room?"

"Just follow the horde."


	23. Revelations

"So," Johnny Eames said an hour later, putting down his fork and leaning back in his chair, "tell us the truth, Alex - how are you feeling?"

"Right now? Or in general?" she responded without looking up from her plate, where she was fashioning a pile of mashed potatoes into something resembling a human face.

"Both," Rob said, then reached over two people and three serving dishes to snatch the fork out of her hand. "Give me that before you hurt yourself."

Deprived of her artistic tool, she looked up and frowned at him. "How could I possibly hurt myself with a _fork_, unless I trip and impale myself on it?"

Two sisters, a brother, and a niece all made a point of knocking on the wooden tabletop in response to that. The rest of the table stifled laughter.

"At least she wasn't using her fork to make semi-obscene shapes in the food like you used to do," Kate told Rob with a smirk.

Bobby blinked in confusion but kept his mouth shut, afraid to ask.

"Rob went through a stage where he thought it was fun to sculpt things in his food," John explained, noticing the look on Bobby's face. "To our eternal amusement, it happened to coincide with the time he started noticing girls. I think we actually might still have one of the -" He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the smaller table the children were sitting at.

The five adults sitting nearest the kids' table each reached over and covered the nearest set of underage ears.

". . . one of the breasts he made out of somebody's birthday cake icing, in the back of the freezer," John finished when he was sure they couldn't hear him.

Alex, even though she had already known the punchline of the story, was so startled by John's satiric delivery that she spat the mouthful of cold potatoes she had just started to eat across the table as a laugh burst out of her against her will.

"Alex!" Jen yelped, pushing her chair back and trying to scrape off the film of potato that was now spattered over her chest and rounded stomach. "You could have given me some warning!"

"Oh, come on, hon," Rob teased, adding his napkin to the removal efforts. "One kid or another always spits up on someone every time this family has dinner. You should be used to it by now."

"I learned to protect myself from kid spit-up," she said dryly, "but I never thought I'd have to protect myself from sister-in-law spit-up."

Alex, whose brain was slightly dulled by the Vicodin, was as stunned as everyone else at the colossal faux pas she'd just made; she couldn't decide whether she was amused or mortified. "Jen, I'm so sorry," she managed to get out. "Here . . ." She stood up with the intention of walking around the table to help with the clean-up, but didn't even get to step away from her chair before she dropped back into it, her face paling.

Bobby was leaning toward her almost before her legs touched the seat cushion again, worry in his eyes. "Are you ok?" he asked in a whisper, then realized a second later that whispering only made him look ridiculous. "Alex? Are you ok?" he said again, this time in a normal voice.

"Alex?" Molly echoed anxiously, staying in her chair only because her husband was holding one of her hands to keep her from standing up.. "Are you alright?"

"I'm, uh . . . yeah, sorry," Alex muttered, dragging a hand down her face, which was now turning from a bloodless white to an embarrassed pink. "I guess a whole pill was a little too much. I just got dizzy for a second."

"Well maybe if you'd keep your butt in the chair, you wouldn't have that problem," Bobby snapped, masking his concern over her condition with curt words before he could stop himself. Then, realizing what he'd just said, he snapped his mouth closed and braced himself for attacks from her family members, who would be right in telling him that he had no right to talk to her like that.

There was utter silence, even from Ashley, for a few seconds, and Bobby didn't dare turn his head to see the people sitting around him. Instead, he kept his eyes on Alex, who, rather that delivering a stinging retort, was staring at him silently, eyes wide.

Then, out of the silence, came Laura's voice: "I'm changing my vote, Molly. Bobby definitely gets extra dessert."

The table exploded into the din of ten people agreeing at once.

"I can't believe it!" Kate burst out loudly. "I think that's the first time I've _ever_ seen Alex back down from _anyone_."

"No, I think she let Jimmy Calhoun down the street win a fight once, in third grade," John corrected.

Rob, eyebrows slightly raised, gave Bobby a what-can-ya-do shrug. "They're right. If any of us had said that, she would have just laughed. It seems you've got the magic touch."

Bobby blinked and looked back at Alex in confusion. She was scowling at her brother, but when she turned back to him, her face cleared somewhat. "Control issues," she said shortly, leaving him to wonder if the issues were hers or her family's. "Would you all stop looking at me like that?" she growled, turning back to her family.

"Looking at you like what?" Sean said ingenuously, arranging his face into an expression of angelic innocence. "Ow!" he grunted when Joanna sighed and slapped him lightly in the back of the head. "Stop that."

"You're all looking at me like I'm incapable of taking care of myself, and I don't appreciate it. Come on, Bobby," Alex said, putting her hands flat on the table to help herself stand up. "We're leaving."

"Alex!" Molly exclaimed in distress. "Stay, please. They'll shut up if they know what's good for them," she added, giving the table at large a threatening look. "I haven't had a chance to make sure you're ok, and you're not going until I have."

"Look, Mom," she sighed, starting to stand, "honestly, I'm really tired, and . . . what the hell?" she broke off, looking down at Bobby's hand where it was clamped just above one of her knees, holding her in the chair. "Let go." She reached down to pry his fingers loose but found the task more difficult than she'd expected.

"If you stand up fast like that, without help, you'll just get dizzy like last time," he informed her calmly. When he saw that she had gotten his point - although she didn't look like she agreed with it - he released her leg and stood up. "If you're going to get up, let me help you."

"God, you're as bad as them!" she groaned.

"Nah," Sam contradicted coolly. "If he was as bad as us, he wouldn't have just offered to let you stand at all. I say you should take what you can get, Aunt Alex."

"I second that," Beth and Jen said in unison. They glanced at each other, grinned, and looked back at Alex. "A little concession is better than complete concession," Jen went on. "Let the guy help you."

Alex sighed. "Fine." She allowed herself to be hoisted to her feet, supported firmly by Bobby but still swaying slightly. "I'm tired," she said unnecessarily.

Molly stood up and walked over, putting her hands on her daughter's shoulder and scrutinizing her face. "Are you really tired, or are you just sulking because everyone's telling you what to do?"

Alex snorted indelicately. "I got used to being bossed around years ago, Ma. I'm really, honest-to-god tired. But the good news," she added with a slight smile, "is that although I'm ready to fall asleep on my feet, I'm feeling no pain - and overall, I'd rather be asleep and not in pain than awake and hurting."

"Here," Beth broke in, appearing from behind her and holding out a hastily-prepared plate in one hand, balancing Nathan in the other arm. "Dessert sampler," she explained, giving the plate a shake, "and your goodnight kiss," she finished, holding out her son so he could reach Alex's face. "He's been asking for you a lot the past few weeks."

Bobby hastily took the plate so Beth could move closer and watched as Alex's face broke into a gentle smile he would have been shocked to see a few minutes ago and she gave her nephew a smacking kiss.

A few seconds later, Beth was heading back to her chair as Bobby and Alex made their way out of the room. "You know," Alex said, stopping abruptly and looking over her shoulder at her gathered family just before they stepped through the doorway, "next time I'm just going to send Bobby with a status report." She elbowed him playfully. "Since you seem to have so much more fun with him than me."

A piece of soda bread, the sole survivor of the loaf Sean had attacked earlier in the evening, came flying over the table to hit her in the side of the head. "Go on, get out," Rob called jokingly. "Two of you gone means more dessert for me."

"Not if you keep up like that, it won't," his wife told him archly. "Night, Alex."

She gave the table a grudging smile, knowing she wouldn't stay mad at them for this. "Night, guys. Mom, I'll call you tomorrow."

"You'd better," Johnny agreed, "or she'll send me to find you."

"God forbid," Alex said with an exaggerated shudder. "C'mon, Bobby."

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"Now _that_," Rob said slowly when his sister and her partner were out of the house, "was interesting."

"Ten bucks says a date within a month," Jo spoke up in response.

"Are you kidding?" Beth said. "My money's on a date within a _week_."

"I happen to know," Rob told the room at large, "that, well . . . let's just say my money's on the date having already happened."

"Exactly what does _that _mean?" Johnny demanded of his son, eyes narrowed. "Is there something I should know?"

"Chill, Dad. I'm just saying that I would find it hard to believe that he's been taking care of her for - what? - three, four weeks already, and neither of them's said anything about all those undercurrents? Nuh-uh. They _know_."

"He's her partner, Robert!"

"Believe me, she knows. He does too. They'll work it out one way or another."

"Since when are you such an optimist?" Sean challenged.

Rob smirked and purposely waited a second too long, building the tension. "Since I found out they've been sharing a bed," he said deliberately when he was sure everyone was paying attention.

The room erupted into chaos;Rob sat back, put his arms behind his head, and enjoyed the fireworks.

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A/N: I honest to god have a cousin who habitually makes boobs out of cake icing at family parties. We froze one and we plan to bring it out for his wedding ;)


	24. Downtime

They'd only just pulled out of the driveway when Alex's cell phone rang. Forcing her heavy eyelids open, she glanced at Bobby, who had his eyes focused on the road as he tried to spot the turn he needed to take to get back to the highway.

"Don't look at me," he told her without turning his head. "I don't have any hands free to answer a phone."

She sighed and raised the phone so she could see the caller ID display. "It's Sean." Looking back at him in confusion, she asked, "Did I fall asleep? How long ago did we leave?"

"Oh, about thirty seconds," Bobby said with a chuckle. "Answer it, we probably forgot something we were supposed to take with us."

"Hmm." She unfolded the phone and put it to her ear. "Yeah, Sean?"

She could barely hear his greeting over the bedlam of voices in the background of the call. "Hold on!" he said after a second, a little louder than his first attempt. A few seconds later, the noise level dropped substantially and he spoke again. "Sorry. The mob's in free-for-all mode; I'm in the kitchen now. I just wanted to give you a heads-up."

That didn't sound good. "A heads-up on what, exactly?" she asked warily.

"Uh . . . you might be getting an angry call from Dad sometime soon."

She closed her eyes and groaned. "And why might I get that call, brother dear?"

"Rob kind of let something slip," he said evasively. "He - what, Jo? No! Tell them I'm - . . . Alex, hold on," he ordered again, his voice sounding farther away from the phone now. There were a few seconds of muffled conversation, during which Sean put his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, before he returned his attention to his conversation with Alex.

"Sean?" Alex demanded impatiently, annoyed at being disturbed and then effectively put on hold. "What are you talking about?"

"Sorry. So yeah, uh, Rob kind of told everyone that you and Bobby have been sleeping together," he said tentatively, unsure of whether she'd take her anger out on him or hold it for Rob.

"He _what_?" Alex squawked into the phone.

"You heard me." His shrug was almost detectable even over the phone line. "Listen, he didn't give us any details, so I don't know if it's true, and frankly, I don't think I particularly care as long as you know what you're doing . . . but I figured it would be cruel and unusual to not warn you ahead of time that Mom and Dad aren't feeling quite as magnanimous."

She let her head fall forward defeatedly until it was resting against the dashboard, aware of the fact that Bobby would be staring down at her in concern as often as he could take his eyes off the road. "He just . . . that's what he _said_? 'Alex and Bobby have been sleeping together'?"

Bobby's strangled exclamation from the driver's seat drowned out Sean's answer. She waved a hand at him repressively and said, "Sean, say that again?"

"Well, uh, there was sort of a betting pool starting after you guys left, and -"

"_What_?"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger," he said placatingly. "You know how the family gets. They were betting over when you guys are going to go on a date, and Rob mentioned that he happened to have some inside information . . ."

"Such as that I've been sleeping with Bobby," she finished tiredly. "Figures, he'd spill it to win a bet. Remind me to do him serious injury next time I see him."

"Will do."

She sighed. "Thanks for the warning, even if I do think you just gave me an instant ulcer. But Sean, do me a favor?"

"Does it involve hitting Rob?"

"Not this time, although I'm not ruling it out for the future. No, I was going to ask if you could . . . you know, if it comes up again with people . . . explain to them that it's 'sleep' in the literal sense, not what their dirty minds are assuming. I have nightmares when he's not around. I'm sure Laura can explain the whole 'traumatic connection' thing to them. She's a shrink, let her do her thing."

"Uh, right. I'll mention it to her. Ok, so - Jo! Not ag-" He broke off to laugh, then directed his voice into the phone again. "Alex, Jo wants me to tell you that if it turns out Rob's wrong about you guys, she'll volunteer to take Bobby off your hands."

"I like 'em tall!" she could hear Jo shout in the background.

Alex snorted. "Tell her that I'll mention it to him, but first she's gotta get rid of you. Which leads me to advise you, as your older sister, to hang up this phone and go buy her some chocolates or something before she decides to take me up on the offer."

"Chocolates," Sean echoed thoughtfully. "Hey, Jo!" he yelled over his shoulder, causing Alex to pull the phone away from her ear with a wince. "What kind of chocolate do you like best?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Sean."

"Huh? What? Oh, bye," he muttered. "Truffles? What the hell are-"

She shut the phone and shook her head. "I'm in deep shit," she informed Bobby as she set the phone down again.

Bobby nodded. "Sounds like we both are. Who did he tell?"

"_Everyone_. Including the kids. I'm going to kill him."

Bobby swallowed. "Everyone? As in, including your parents?"

"Unfortunately," she sighed. "You're welcome to join me in drawing and quartering him when I get him cornered."

"I told you you shouldn't have made me come," he muttered, stepping a little too hard on the gas to pass a slow right-lane driver.

"Are you kidding?" she said, astonished. "They love _you_. It's _me _that's going to get in trouble for this."

"Somehow I find myself doubting that," he told her. "Your family strikes me as the type that protects its own."

Alex yawned widely, then sighed. "I guess we'll have to batten down the hatches and wait and see." Glancing into the backseat, she pulled his topcoat between their seats until it was on her lap. "Ok if I use this as a pillow?"

"Take the cuffs out of the pocket first, but yeah." He chanced a look away from the road to quickly stroke his thumb over her cheek and examine her face closely. "You look exhausted. I'll wake you up when we get home."

She pulled out his handcuffs and tossed them into the back seat, then balled up the coat and slipped it under her head. "The handcuffs are for another day. Thanks for the pillow."

She was asleep before be could parse that statement and begin to feel shocked.

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She was still asleep when he parked in front of her building an hour later, and he just sat there for a few minutes after he turned off the ignition, watching her. Although her face bore few lines even when she was awake, her face as she slept seemed to have been smoothed out. Her features were completely relaxed, and as he watched, she burrowed her face deeper into his coat and murmured something unintelligible.

He wondered if the way she was clutching the coat had anything to do with his scent lingering in it, then told himself that was ridiculous. She was asleep; no one processed such subtle scents when they were unconscious. Still, he had a strong urge to lean over her, to maybe kiss her, just to see what happened.

But that would be bad. He'd been telling her for a week how bad it would be; if he went against his own advice and did it now, she'd either kill him or make fun of him mercilessly. No, he'd be much better off just waking her up and getting her upstairs so she could sleep in an actual bed.

"Alex," he whispered almost inaudibly, not really wanting to wake her even as he began trying to.

Her only response to the whisper was a slight wrinkling of her nose that could have just been caused by a stray fiber on the coat tickling her. He waited another second, just in case, then tried again, this time leaning closer so he could whisper it almost in her ear. "Alex?"

Her nose wrinkled again and she twisted her head so that it lay mostly under the coat, with her ears covered, instead of on top of it. He suppressed a grin; obviously she wasn't eager to be awakened. Hell, he could understand the feeling - he felt it every time he woke up in bed with her. All the same, he needed to get her upstairs, and if he resorted to carrying her up, it would have to be in a position sure to hurt her ribs. So she needed to open her eyes and . . . "Alex," he said a third time, picking up the corner of the sleeve that covered her ear and saying it a little louder almost directly into her ear.

"No," she said clearly, without opening her eyes. One hand came out from under her head to hit him weakly as though he were an alarm clock.

"Come on," he told her, trying not to laugh as he kept his mouth by her ear so she couldn't escape his voice. "I know you're awake, Alex. Might as well open your eyes long enough for me to get you into your apartment."

"No. Tired," she mumbled, even as she unintentionally began to obey and open her eyes. "I'm not . . ." Her eyes widened and she forgot whatever argument she had been about to make as she pulled her head out from under the coat and found his face only inches away from hers.

They stared at each other without moving for a moment, both wishing something would happen but afraid at the same time that it would. "Bobby?" Alex said softly, breaking the silence.

He blinked, gave his head a slight shake, and pulled back from her until he was sitting completely in his seat again. "Uh, sorry. I was trying to, uh . . . well, we're here, and . . .uh . . ."

"You want one of my Vicodins?"

That gave him pause. "Uh . . . no," he said cautiously. "Why?"

"Then stop stammering and wringing your hands like a nervous kid on his first date," she said with a teasing smile. "Yeah, you really were wringing them," she added when he looked down at his hands suspiciously. "Whatever it is that set you off, you need to chill. I assume you were trying to get me out of the car?"

"Yeah."

"Well, let's do it." She pulled the coat away from her head, a few strands of her hair following its static electricity. "Static," she grumbled, trying to get the hair to stay in place without really raising her arms.

He took the coat from her and donned it, then reached into the back seat and retrieved the abandoned handcuffs, slipping them into an inner pocket. "Dryer sheet," he said as he opened his door and stepped out of the car.

"What?" she asked when he opened the door on her side.

He didn't answer immediately, concentrating on keeping steady while she used him as a brace to stand up. "A dryer sheet will fix the static, at least temporarily," he finally explained as they entered the building with him supporting most of her weight.

They stepped into the elevator with her in front so she could lean back against him. "Where do you get this stuff?" she asked curiously, managing not to show a reaction when he surprised her by slipping his arms around her waist in a loose embrace.

He gave that a second's thought. "I don't know. I just . . . know it."

"Bobby Goren, domestic goddess extraordinaire."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," she said with a shake of her head, laying her hands on top of his at her waist. "Just talking to hear my own voice."

Before he realized what he was doing, he automatically splayed his fingers so that her fingers slipped between his and they were holding hands. When he processed what he'd just done, he moved to pull away his hands away but found that she was holding them in place firmly. "I'm sorry, I . . ." he mumbled, trying again to pull away.

"Stop it," she ordered without loosening her grip. "This is comfortable."

"But we shouldn't . . ."

"Just tell yourself you're helping to hold up a tired woman," she said, cutting off his protest. "Nothing more than that."

He subsided, unwilling to start a real argument over it, and settled for watching the numbers above the door as they advanced slowly toward her floor. _Come on, come on . . . move faster so I can get her away from my body before I embarrass myself!_

"Uh, Bobby?" Alex said gently, giving his hand a shake. "Doors are open. Move 'em out."

He blinked, noting that the elevator had indeed stopped on her floor while he was busy silently berating it. "Sorry." Pushing her away from him with as little force as he could manage and still get some space between them, he put his arm around her shoulders and started toward her apartment.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, catching herself just before he sent her into a wall. "What the hell was that about? Fragile goods here, remember?" she added, pointing to herself.

"Alex, I'm sorry," he said with genuine remorse, mentally kicking himself for his cloddishness. "I wasn't thinking and I just -"

"It's fine," she cut him off. "Just . . . let's get inside, ok? I want to lie down."

"Of course." He removed his arm and stood by as she unlocked her door and pushed it open, then put it around her again when she began to walk into the apartment. "You want to go straight to bed?"

She nodded tiredly and pointed to the clock on the wall, which told them it was past ten. "It's almost bedtime, anyway. You going to stay up a while?"

He gave that serious consideration, then caught himself on a yawn. "Uh . . . guess not," he told her sheepishly.

She grinned as they began a three-legged walk to the bedroom. "My family can have that effect on people. You lasted longer than most."

He shook his head. "Yeah, well, I get the feeling that I'm not going to last much longer if your father gets his hands on me before you explain things to him. Quite possibly your mother, too."

She made a rude noise and shut the bedroom door behind them. "My dad's all bark and no bite. Stop worrying."

"Uh, Alex . . ." he said nervously as he sat to take off his shoes, "unless things used to be a lot different on the force, I don't think they make cops without 'bite'."

His sweatpants, which had lately been adorning her legs, hit him in the back of the head. "I said to stop worrying, Bobby! Nothing is going to happen - other than me killing Rob, that is."

It took him a second to realize that there was something very wrong with the pants currently being on his side of the bed. "Uh . . . Alex?"

"Hmm?" The bed dipped slightly as she sat down with her back to him to take off her watch and set it on the nightstand.

"Weren't you just wearing these?" he said guardedly, slinging the pants over his shoulder without daring to turn around.

"Yeah." She swung her legs up onto the bed and wiggled her way under the covers. "You can turn around now, if you were avoiding looking at me."

He did, and stared at her for a second before saying, "You took off . . ."

"It's more comfortable. And before you have a heart attack, I'm still wearing underwear and the shirt."

How could she possibly think that the mental image of her in her underwear would make him _less _likely to turn into a gibbering idiot? But she obviously saw nothing wrong with her current state of dress - was he just being absurdly uptight? He didn't know at this point. All he knew, he decided as he slid under the covers, was that he was going to be sleeping on his hands tonight to avoid accidentally learning any more about her underwear than he could stand.


	25. When morning comes

He woke up with her mostly on top of him, her head nestled against his shoulder and one of her legs between his, and he determinedly stifled the urge to groan something about how he'd known this would happen. "Alex?" he attempted, patting her cheek. She didn't even twitch, and the dead weight of her head on his shoulder told him that she wasn't faking it this time.

With a sigh, Bobby wrapped his left arm around her and decided that if he couldn't wake her up, he'd just have to keep her where she was until she did open her eyes. It was a purely pragmatic decision, of course; it had absolutely nothing to do with how good it felt to have a warm body - _her _warm body, in particular - on top of him and her small head cuddled trustingly into him. Nothing at all.

Right.

He knew exactly how stupid he was being . . . and yet he was doing it anyway. Then he glanced at the clock and noticed that he'd woken up a little later than he usually did for work. "Crap." As much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to wait for her to wake up by herself.

He allowed himself a few more seconds to memorize the scene around him and the woman on top of him, then shrugged his shoulder slightly, jostling her head. "Eames."

She muttered something that sounded like, "Mlurgh," and refused to be moved.

"Alex, come on. I need to get up."

She lifted her head slightly and cracked one eye. "Why?"

"Because it's past eight and I - hey!" he broke off when she snorted derisively and dropped her head back onto his shoulder.

"Five more minutes?" She was speaking into his neck and her words were largely unintelligible, but based on what he could hear and what he knew about her aversion to waking up, he was pretty sure that was what she'd said.

"You can have as many more minutes as you want," he told her, giving her shoulder a push as he tried to work his way out from under her. "I'm the one who needs to get up."

Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin and he knew she'd just opened her eyes. "Work?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming with you," she said, attempting to sit up.

"No you're not. Go back to sleep."

"No. I'm coming with you," she repeated, more firmly this time. "We already had this argument yesterday and I won, remember?"

Resorting to using both hands and a fair amount of force, he more or less lifted her off of him and set her to the side. "Yesterday you hadn't spent the day before running all over and in serious pain. You're not coming, Alex."

She leaned over and rested an elbow on his stomach, purposely pushing down a bit too hard. "It's not your decision to make."

He sighed and pushed her arm to the side so she at least wasn't leaning directly on his diaphragm. "Until you're in good enough shape to physically get past me and go to work on your own, it _is _my decision. And I say you're not going."

"And I say bring it on," she retorted. "What are you going to do, tie me down?"

"Do _not _tempt me, Alex," he said, pushing her elbow off him entirely and sitting up. "My life would be much easier if I could just tie you down to the bed to keep you from doing something dumb and hurting yourself."

"Bobby!" She looked at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "You wouldn't dare do that to me."

"You're right, I wouldn't - not unless I absolutely had to, to keep you safe. But lately you're flirting with that line. Face it, Eames: you're not coming to work today."

"Oh really?" She rolled onto her back and looked up at him with a smirk. "So what, you're going to leave me here alone all day? And don't tell me you're going to call Lewis again, because you know he's not getting within twenty feet of me unless he's sure I won't have another nightmare."

"Damn it." She was right on both counts, and he wanted to kick himself for needing to have her point them out to him.

"You can't win, Bobby. Just let me have my way and things will go a lot easier."

He gave her an incredulous look and blurted, "Is that what you tell your boyfriends?" The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them, and when he caught up with what he'd said, he groaned and put out a hand to stop her response. "Don't answer that."

She grinned knowingly. "With the notable exception of you, most of the men in my life have instinctively known better than to argue with me in the first place. Now, getting back to the subject at hand, will you give me a hand getting up?" she asked, holding out a hand expectantly.

He glared at her for a second, then sighed and took her hand. "I'm not washing your hair again."

"You didn't do a very good job the first time; I won't be missing much," she shot back, remembering their awkward attempt last week to wash her hair in her kitchen sink when she realized that she couldn't raise her arms to do it by herself in the shower. "I'm more concerned with getting the rest of me clean, anyway."

"I'm not washing that, either," he teased as between the two of them, they managed to get her on her feet. "And you're not gon- . . ."

"I'm not gonna what?' she prompted distractedly, trying to comb the fingers of one hand through her tangled hair, when his voice trailed off.

"Uh . . . I forget," he managed thickly. Turning away from her, he asked, "You want the shower first, then?"

"For god's sake," she muttered, realizing that he was trying not to look at her bare legs, "I'm completely covered, Bobby! This shirt is like a dress on me. You're not going to go to hell if you look at my legs - which, by the way, you see every time I wear a skirt to work, anyway."

"Ok, then I'll shower first," he said, ignoring what she'd just said and snatching a change of clothes from his bag.

"Coward!" she called after him.

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"You look worse than her this morning," Deakins remarked when he managed to get Bobby alone later that day. "What's she been doing to you?"

He just sighed and shook his head. "Being herself."

"Ah, a truly frightening prospect. Want to borrow a set of cuffs for the next time she starts arguing with you?"

Bobby couldn't restrain the startled laugh that bubbled out of him at that. "Believe it or not, I already threatened her with that. She laughed in my face."

"Sounds like you two are back to normal, at least," Deakins observed with a smirk. "So, uh . . . what are we going to do with her now?" he added, glancing cautiously over his shoulder to where Alex sat, concentrating on one form or another. "I assume she refuses to go home?"

"She would if I gave her the chance, but for today, at least, I'm stuck. There's no one else who could have stayed with her at home while I was here, so it's not worth arguing over."

"No one?" Deakins echoed, looking doubtful. "What about her brothers? Didn't one of them pick her up yesterday?"

"They're . . . busy today." _And she'd probably murder Rob right in the middle of the bullpen if he were to walk in_. "I can try Sean or his girlfriend, if it really becomes necessary."

Deakins blinked. "You know her brother's girlfriend?"

Oops. "Uh, you know . . . just from, uh, around," he, managed, fumbling for words that weren't too revealing.

"You know, I don't think I want to know. Just make sure you have a contingency plan to get rid of Eames - that's all I'm concerned with for the time being."

"Sure. Me too. And I do." Without further comment, he fled the captain's office.

Alex looked up when his shadow fell across his desk. "You two enjoy your pow-wow? Think of a way to get rid of me yet?"

Tolerating her gibes without comment, he set down his portfolio and sat down. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy," she muttered darkly. "Thanks for asking."

He leaned forward and tried again, this time with more intensity in his voice, to communicate his genuine concern. "I'm serious, Alex. I want to know if you're feeling ok."

"I'm fine," she said, setting down her pen with a sigh. "You'd be able to tell if I wasn't. Now, can I get back to work?"

"No."

"Excuse me?" she said, eyes widening in surprise.

"I mean, not that work," he said, pointing to the form she had been filling out. "I want you to go over these crime scene photos with me." He flipped open his portfolio to show her a stack of CSU photographs. "There's something I'm not seeing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You mean you're going to let me do actual work? Hallelujah. Hand 'em over."

"Conference room's probably easier," he pointed out as she shuffled through the two-inch thick stack. "We can lay them out on the table."

"You're right." She handed him the photos and, without ceremony, pushed herself up from her chair. "Let's go."

Bobby almost dropped the pictures as he reacted instinctively by getting ready to catch her if she fell. When she stayed upright and just gave him a casual smile, he scowled. "You could have given me some warning, Eames."

"If I'd given you warning, you wouldn't have let me do it."

"And that's a bad thing? You know what happened last night when you tried to stand up by yourself."

"I was doped up last night," she said, turning toward the conference room. "And I'm not today. So stop fussing and come on."


	26. Fatherly concern

A/N: I seem to be on a major roll with this story (knock on wood)...mainly because I'm avoiding studying for my psycholinguistics final, writing my paper on Czech nationalism, and writing my paper on the phonology of garden path sentences. Yep, ficcing is sounding _real _good right about now...too bad this seems to be the only story I'm inspired for at the moment.

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She grunted quietly as she straightened up from bending over the photos an hour later. "Whoever took this set was just a little obsessive about their job. I think we could make a complete three-hundred-sixty degree panorama and still have copies left to spare."

"Better too many than too few," Bobby murmured, turning his head to look at her. "There's got to be something here."

"Exactly what is it that we need to find, again?" she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

"The room was tossed. It had to have been tossed, but I just . . . _can't _spot anything out of place. A room that's been searched _always _has something the intruders forgot to fix."

"You've been staring at these for how long, again?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Too long."

Trying to limit any movements that involved her ribs, she leaned carefully over the table again. "Ok, well, let's try this again. We're looking at a bedroom, right? A woman's bedroom?"

"Yeah." He took his eyes off the pictures for a moment to evaluate her physical condition and decide whether to let her keep participating or send her back to her chair. "There's photos of the rest of the house too, if it turns out we need them," he offered when he detected no overt signs of fatigue or pain on her face.

"Well, let's stick with the bedroom for now. You're a male, your eye isn't attuned to feminine bedrooms. And don't even try to argue with that," she added after a pause, "because whatever story you have to disprove it, I don't want to hear it."

He held back a laugh. "If you say so. So go ahead," he said, waving an arm over the photos, "impress me with your feminine knowledge."

She looked up at him and raised one eyebrow. "You mean I haven't already?"

He only response was to put a hand on top of her head and gently but insistently turn it back toward the photographs.

"Well fine, if you want to do it like that." She returned her eyes to the pictures, trying to analyze each piece of furniture or floor as a complete entity, despite the piecemeal fashion in which the individual photos were laid together. "The place is really a little too neat for my taste, but I don't think it's because of the search. A few books on the nightstand, bottle of water, pill package . . . all normal."

"I'd already figured that out, Eames."

"Don't rush me," she said without moving her eyes from the photos. "Perfection takes time." Bobby shrugged in response and there was silence for a minute as they both intently studied the virtual bedroom spread out on the layout table in front of them.

"Here," Alex suddenly said, startling him.

He followed her eyes to find that she was pointing to part of the victim's dresser, in the vicinity of the flat, rectangular jewelry box. "The jewelry?" he asked. "What about it? It looked pretty typical to me."

"Not the box. The area in front of it. See these earrings?" she said, directing his attention to the lace runner that covered the wooden top of the dresser. It was studded with a handful of scattered earrings and earring backs, none of which appeared to Bobby to be particularly special or valuable.

"Yeah . . . ?" he said slowly, waiting for her to explain further.

"You just don't _do_ that. Women don't, I mean. These aren't expensive jewelry, but they're not cheap either, and you wouldn't want to lose nice stuff like this. You either leave the back off the earring and put both pieces in the jewelry box, or you put the back back on and leave it out. You _don't _leave the backs off and scatter everything all over the dresser, because that's when a kid swallows a back, or you vacuum up one by accident, or it just disappears into thin air."

He blinked. "Earring backs?"

"Trust me, they disappear like socks in a dryer, and it's just as annoying."

"So . . . what? The guy pulled the backs off each earring?"

She let out a tired sigh. "No, Goren. These were dumped out of the jewelry box, but either he forgot to put them back in or he thought it looked normal to have them sitting out like this. Obviously he wasn't a very obs . . . Bobby?" He wasn't paying attention anymore, she realized; his gaze was fixed somewhere over her shoulder. "Bobby," she repeated, beginning to turn around.

He grabbed her arm to stop her movement. "Don't look."

"What? Why?" She tried to look without turning her body, but failed.

"Does your father know Deakins?"

"Does he . . . _what_?" She yanked her arm out of his grasp and spun around, barely noticing the pain that twisting her torso caused. "Jesus Christ," she muttered despairingly, dropping her head into her hands at the sight of her father shaking hands with her boss as if they'd just finished a satisfying bit of business. "Please tell me this isn't happening."

"You have no idea how much I wish I could."

"Ok, I can deal with this. Wait here," she commanded decisively, moving toward the door as calmly as she could.

"Eames, I don't think it's a good idea to -"

"Wait here!" she snapped, then stepped out of the room and let the door slam behind her.

The crash of the door made heads jerk up all over the squad room as she made her way to where the two men stood.

Deakins had the grace to look guilty as he mumbled a quick, "Eames," before turning and retreating into his office posthaste.

She stopped a few feet away from her father and crossed her arms, giving him a cool look. "What are you doing here, Dad?"

"Just stopped by to talk to an old friend," Johnny Eames told, matching his standoffish posture to hers. "Can't an old cop shoot the breeze with a colleague?"

"Just 'shoot the breeze'? Shoot the breeze about what?" She snorted when he paused before opening his mouth. "You haven't talked to Jimmy Deakins in years. Don't bullshit me."

"Watch your mouth," he warned sharply, then reminded himself that his daughter was far from being six anymore and they were standing in public. "Sorry, habit."

She just sighed. "Tell me the truth, Dad."

"Look, Alex, let me take you to lunch. You shouldn't be here working so soon, anyway." He took her elbow in a gentle grip and pulled her slightly into the hallway so that they were out of the sightline of most of the squad room.

"I'm going to disown the next person who tells me that, so watch your step," she informed him as she pointedly extricated her arm from his hand. "Now, are you here to check up on me?" She leaned slightly to her left and glanced over her shoulder to see what Bobby was doing and found him with his nose almost pressed to the glass of the conference room wall. "Or are you here to check up on him?"

"Robbie told me -"

"I know what Robbie told you, and first of all, he 'told' you wrong. Second of all, I can't believe you'd be inconsiderate enough to actually corner me at _work _and try to talk about it."

"That's why I want to take you to lunch. I have every right to -"

"No you don't!" she said, then paused, realizing that her raised voice was attracting too much attention when two heads poked around the wall to sneak peeks at the scene she and her father were putting on. She gave her co-workers a death glare, then looked back at her father."I'm not fifteen anymore," she added, lowering her voice.

"Alex, please."

"You're going to have to trust me on this one, Dad," she said, meeting his eyes and refusing to be stared down. "There's nothing going on between me and Bobby that you need to be worried about."

Johnny chewed on that for a second. "I don't like it, Al. You should know better than to get involved with your partner."

She blinked, at a loss for a response to that simple point. Quite frankly, he was right - she_ should_ have known better. It was just too bad that she didn't seem to, in reality. "Please, just go, Dad. I assume Deakins told you I'm in no danger of being fired, and that's all you should have been worried about."

"What I'm _worried_ about is the fact that that man is living with you and sleeping in your bed!" he said, lowering his voice to a hiss to foil the eavesdroppers he knew were there.

"I am not fifteen," she repeated firmly. "You have to realize that. And for the love of god, I had relationships when I _was _fifteen that you should have worried about more than you're worrying about this one now!"

"Your captain said he's a good cop."

"Oh my god," she groaned, covering her face with her hands, "please tell me you didn't go in there and tell my boss that I'm sleeping with my partner and therefore you needed to know all about him."

"Of course not. I just mentioned that I didn't know much about him and I was curious. He filled in a few blanks."

She shook her head, unable to believe his gall. "Blanks like what?"

"He's not married, he doesn't step on you to solve cases, and he's never had any domestic violence complaints filed against him."

She could feel her jaw drop, but it was a few seconds before she could convince her hand to work enough to push it shut. "Domestic violence? Dad! You could have asked me - or him, for that matter - for an answer, you didn't need to go to Deakins! Jesus, you . . ." She shook her head in utter disbelief and slumped against the wall. "I can't believe you'd even bring that up in regards to him. Did you _see _him with the kids last night? And with me?"

"Your mother is worried about you, honey, and -"

"Oh, don't try to hide behind Mom. If she was the one really worried about me, then she'd have called me and demanded answers, not snuck in here to quiz my boss."

"Ok, fine. _I'm _worried about you. But I refuse to let you make me feel guilty about that."

"Dad, go home. I'm not continuing this conversation; I need to go do damage control now that you've probably put all sorts of ideas in Deakin's head." Even though she was tempted to storm away in a huff, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before the stepped back and looked at him warningly. "If you want to know something in the future, ask _me_."

"Alex . . ."

"Goodbye, Dad," she said tiredly. "I'll call tonight." Unable to believe her day could have possibly gotten this bad this fast, she turned her back on him with a sigh and headed for Deakins's office to find out what sort of damage her father had done.


	27. Interrogation

She almost would have believed that Deakins had a clear conscience when she entered his office if it weren't for the moment when he looked past her, obviously trying to locate Bobby before he planned his strategy. "I left him in the conference room," she informed him, slipping into a chair in front of his desk. "And I don't plan on bringing him into this unless I have to."

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands hands over his chest in a pseudo-casual posture. "You know your father and I know each other from -"

"Yeah, sure," she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "From back in the day, I know. He tried that line too."

Deakins sighed and switched tactics. "What can I do for you, Eames?"

"You can tell me what you and my father just talked about," she told him coolly.

"We talked about how you were doing," he said with a shrug. "He's worried about you - with good reason, as far as I'm concerned. You shouldn't be here and you know it."

"That's all? You only talked about me?"

"What, exactly, are you fishing for, Alex?" he responded evasively, pulling his eyes away from hers and letting them wander around the room.

"I want to know what my dad was so worried about that he had to come talk to you about it. He's been worried about me before without interrogating my superior officers. What's different this time?"

"Other than the fact that you almost died?"

She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that if she exploded at him now it would be she who came out the loser. "Yes, sir, other than that."

"He's worried about how well you're taking care of yourself. I got the impression he wants you to stay with him and your mom while you're recovering." He put his pen down, then nervously set it spinning on his desk. "You should be glad people love you enough to worry about you."

"Worry is fine. Invasion of my privacy is not. Invasion of someone else's privacy is _definitely _not," she said tightly.

"If you already know what we talked about, then why are you asking me to tell you again?"

She sighed heavily and tried to think of a way to phrase it delicately. "Because I want to know how much damage my father just did with this fit of overprotectiveness. He tends to jump to conclusions and he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

"He had some questions about your partner. I hardly think that's unusual for the parent of a cop."

_Oh? And the part where he's five years late in asking didn't strike you as a little odd? _She quashed that thought and went for something less likely to lead him down the path she didn't want him on: "What were the questions he had?"

"You know, the usual." He leaned forward and stared down at his pen as though it were a cheat sheet. "Where was he before he was here, how's his record, does he know how to play nice with a partner."

A flicker of movement outside the door of the office made them both glance to the side, where they saw Bobby trying to look busy as he lingered a few feet away from the door. "Thought you didn't want to involve him," Deakins said with raised eyebrows.

"I don't - and believe me, neither do you. That's why I want to know what my dad said about him and what you said back - so I can control for it and it doesn't come back to bite either of us in the ass."

"Ok, look." The pen began an new journey into the breast pocket of his suit, then back out and down to the desk. "He wanted to know what kind of cop Bobby was. I told him he was unorthodox but trustworthy. He wanted to know if he respects you as a partner, I said yes. He wanted to know . . ."

"What he was like outside the job?" she finished for him. "See, that's what I mean about him jumping to conclusions. He paranoid about letting me back out on the street to work with someone he hasn't personally approved."

"Is that what that was?" Deakins asked mildly.

Did he think she wasn't going to spot a trap that obvious? "Yes," she said with equal carelessness. "That's what it was."

Deakins steepled his fingers under his chin and looked at her. "You know, there are certain things about your life - yours and Goren's - that it would inappropriate of me to know. Certain things I don't _want _to know. Given that, there are also certain things I want to make absolutely _sure _I _don't_ know. Ever."

She stared at him, unable to believe the subtext she thought she'd detected in that statement. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think you know what I mean. All I'm saying is that you guys are my best team and I'm not splitting you up unless I'm forced into it."

She blinked. He was telling her that if her father was right about her relationship with Bobby, he wouldn't oppose it unless they threw it in his face . . . but he was also giving her a chance to deny any such involvement, if her father was wrong.

And if she didn't protest now, he was going to assume her father was right - which he wasn't, not really. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly wrong, either.

"Alex?"

She shook her head to clear it and re-focused on the man sitting in front of her. "Sorry, I was woolgathering. Look, Captain, I don't know what my father told you, but . . . there's nothing between Goren and me that you should be concerned with not knowing about." _Ooh, you are such a liar, Alexandra! Aren't you sick of this oh-so-obvious doubletalk yet?_

"Ok," he said with a quick nod. "Ok, fine. Good. You need anything else from me?"

"How about a promise not to talk to my father about me again without my permission? Not my brothers, either."

"More than happy to. That takes the weight off my shoulders." He glanced over his shoulder to the bullpen. "Now, would you please go stop your partner from pacing a hole in the carpet out there?"

"Yes, sir."

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He pounced on her almost before she had the door closed behind her, bending down so his face was level with hers and he could watch her intently. "What just happened in there? Where's your father?"

She unconsciously backed up a step to maintain the politically-correct distance between them. "I sent my dad home with a flea in his ear, although I managed to resist doing the same to Deakins."

"I need more details than that, Eames. Come on," he said, closing the gap between them and holding out a hand to her, "let's go get lunch."

She countered his movement with one of her own again. "Bobby, can we -"

"I'm not going to be able to concentrate on work until you tell me, anyway. I'll buy, how's that?"

She fetched up against the wall, between a filing cabinet and a table, with a dull thump and felt the adrenaline begin to course through her. "Would you please just -"

He barely heard her weak protest; his attention was completely focused on sorting out the events of the morning. "No, come on," he urged, reaching out to urge her forward. "Come on, come on. It's free food!"

_For the love of god, Alex, don't make a scene in the middle of the office. Once a day is enough! _"Bobby, _please_," she managed quietly. "Please, just . . . _back off_."

Her tone of voice was foreign enough to him to jolt him out of his distraction and he stopped, letting his hand drop. "Alex?"

_Ok, Eames, he stopped moving_, she told herself. _It would be stupid to panic now. Just give him a second and he'll . . ._

Without warning, he leaned forward and propped his elbow on the filing cabinet, trying to get a closer look at her face while maintaining his bodily distance. "Are you ok?"

She reacted to the sudden movement by slamming her eyes closed and pressing back against the wall. "Back . . . _up_!" she managed one more time through gritted teeth, feeling a tinge of hysteria work its way into her voice.

He realized with alarm that instead of backing off, it must have looked to her like he moved closer. Disgusted with himself for not paying attention to what she'd been trying to tell him, he took as big a step back as he could and drew his hand back from her, running his fingers through his hair with a groan. "God, Eames . . . I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

She nodded jerkily but didn't move away from the wall as she took a deep breath and tried to slow her pounding heart. "It's . . . ok. I'm fine. Just . . . try to block the rest of the room from seeing me for a minute, ok?"

"Are you ok?"

She swallowed, then nodded again and pushed off the wall. "Yeah. I think . . . yeah."

He backed up another step and studied the woman in front of him, taking in the pale but determined face, the quickly rising and falling chest, and the trembling hands. "Christ."

"I'll be ok, Bobby. Remember, the chemistry of fear? Just . . . for the love of god, would you _please _stop triggering it in me every time you get distracted?" she told him with a weak smile.

He shook his head and backed up again, turning toward their desks to grab their coats. "I'm taking you home."

"No, you're not." She pulled her coat from his hands and tossed it back toward her desk. "I'm _fine_. I don't need to go home."

"You're going to be tired when you come down off the adrenaline high," he pointed out. "You know that from experience."

"I'll crash in the break room. I'm serious," she added at his incredulous look. "Unless you've suddenly changed your mind about leaving me alone, you can't take me home. No one will mind if I pass out in a chair by the coffee pot. Hell, they'll probably paint a moustache on my face and take blackmail pictures."

He couldn't help but laugh at that mental image, but the smile quickly faded from his face. "You really shouldn't . . . in a business atmosphere . . ."

"Oh, don't give me that. This place has never had, and never will have, a 'business atmosphere.'" Her hands had almost stopped shaking, she realized with relief, and she took the opportunity to reach out and put a hand on his arm. "You know I'm right. What did I tell you this morning about not arguing with me?"

With a sigh of resignation, he slung his coat over the back of his chair. "Fine. Stay here today and sleep - but I'm going to find a way to get in touch with Sean tonight and make sure you're his responsibility tomorrow. Maybe you can sleep in a chair by the Narcotics coffee pot, too."

"I'm not giving you his number," she muttered, crossing her arms and scowling.

"Setting aside the fact that he's on the force and I can get his contact information off his personnel file, you have his number in your phone. All I need to do is lift it when you're not paying attention."

"Just for that, my phone is staying right . . . here," she said with a smirk, slipping it into the hip pocket of her fitted pants, "while I sleep." She gave him a smile that dared him to respond and stuck out her arm, showing him that her hand was steady. "See? All better. I'd tell you to take my pulse, but that might make people talk."

"People talking . . ." he repeated thoughtfully. "If you're really, truly feeling back to normal," he told her, gripping her forearm as gently as he could, "then you're coming with me back to the conference room so we can discuss the . . . 'people' who are 'talking,' and exactly what they're saying."

Alex sighed. _Can't have expected to get away with not telling him for very long, might as well accept it_. "Oh, fine," she grumbled. "And you still owe me lunch, by the way."


	28. Coffee and suds

A/N: Well, I'm 12 pages into my paper on Czech nationalism, and I swear to god, if I never hear the word "Bohemia" again, it'll be too soon! I rewarded my hard work by allowing myself to fic for a while...here's the result.

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He lost track of her sometime after they shared a lunch of deli sandwiches in the conference room, largely because he had been doing his best to keep his distance from her for fear of setting off another of her panic reactions. In fact, much to his later self-disgust, he didn't realize that he'd misplaced his partner at all until Deakins stopped in front of his desk later in the day.

"Goren," Deakins said with a nod, knocking on the edge of the desk.

Bobby, who had been concentrating intensely on a sorting through stack of phone dumps from a case, looked up and blinked. "Uh, hi. You need something?"

"No, just stopped by to check in." The words sounded dismissive, but Deakins pointedly continued to stand in from of Goren's desk.

"Check in on what?" Bobby asked blankly, starting to get the feeling that he was playing directly into some kind of trap.

Finally having elicited the set-up line he needed, Deakins grinned. "On whether you're aware of the fact that your partner's passed out next to the coffee pot. Passed out _against_ the coffee pot, actually; Hutchinson already had to re-brew one batch because her hair fell into the pot when he went to pick it up."

Bobby put down his pencil with a precise, controlled movement, and in that moment the only thought that entered his head was, _Damn it, that means we're going to have to wash her hair again. "_No, I wasn't aware of that, but it doesn't particularly surprise me. Did it occur to anyone that a simple solution would be to push her over the other way so her hair _wasn't_ falling in the direction of the pot?"

"Beats me. I only drink the coffee, I don't make it. You're just gonna leave her there?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "What happened to the over-protective Goren she's been bitching about?"

Bobby sighed. "He lost another fight to her, during which she informed him that no one would mind if she fell asleep next to the coffee pot."

"Have you won _any _of the skirmishes between you two?" Deakins asked conversationally, dropping into Eames's chair across from the other man. "Or is she pretty much consistently walking all over you? And you know, it's not the sleeping we mind - it's the invading female hair thing."

"She's let me win a few," he replied with a shrug. "Enough so I haven't killed her yet, anyway. I suppose you want me to wake her up?"

"Uh, it would be rather helpful, yeah," Deakins said with friendly sarcasm. "Or at least push her over the other way. No one else wants to get close enough to do it."

"Uh . . . should I ask _why_ no one else wants to get close enough to do it?"

Deakins coughed and hid a smile behind his hand. "It's probably because she, uh, kind of took a swing - a sleepy, halfhearted one, but still a swing - at Hutchinson when he tried to get her up."

_Yeah, she has a habit of refusing to be woken up_. For once, he managed not to blurt out his first thought on the topic, for which he mentally patted himself on the back. Telling Deakins that it was a habit would only lead to questions about why he knew about his partner's sleeping habits in the first place. "Did she connect?" he managed in what he hoped was a cool voice, after a taking a second to swallow the groan and jumble of curses that were his second inclination after the thought about it being habit.

"Nah. He's got fast reflexes, she didn't even come close. But, well, no one else wants to chance it now."

Bobby sighed. "Yeah. I'll get her out of there. Don't know where else I can put her," he added, looking around the room for something resembling a clean surface or soft chair, "but I'll move her."

"You could always just clear off her desk and let her lie there. That is, assuming there's a desk under all that paper you've got scattered over it right now. But you know . . . for today, it's already past four - why don't you just go ahead and take both of you home instead of having to worry about where to put her until the end of the day?"

"I can try to call her brother, sir," Bobby said quickly, beginning to shake his head to refuse the offer. "There's no reason I can't finish out the day."

"You mean except the part where your concentration's shot to shit when you don't have at least one eye on her at all times?"

Couldn't argue with that; Deakins had a point. With a beleaguered groan, Bobby stood up. "Ok, if you say so."

Deakins grinned and rubbed his hands together as he started to follow Bobby across the room. "I'm right behind you. _This, _I gotta see."

Bobby didn't reply to that, just kept moving. A few seconds later when they walked into the break room, they found two other detectives standing by the counter and conducting a low-voiced conversation that included surreptitious glances at their sleeping co-worker.

"Williams, Miller," Deakins acknowledged dryly, pretending that it wasn't patently obvious that they were talking about Eames. "You might want to quit your gossiping and get your asses out of here," he went on, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. "Goren's gonna wake her up, and you don't want to be around for that."

When both detectives mumbled agreements and slunk out of the room, Bobby sighed. "At least they didn't paint a moustache on her."

"Excuse me?"

"That was the other thing she told me, after she said no one would, uh, mind if she fell asleep in here. 'They'll probably just paint a moustache on me and take blackmail pictures'," he quoted.

"There's still time," Deakins said thoughtfully, producing a sharpie from the pocket of his pants.

Goren snorted and pulled the marker out of his hand. "Too late now." He set it down on the counter, just out of Deakins's reach, then turned back to where Alex sat.

"I'm . . . gonna be over here while you do that," Deakins murmured, hastily pointing to a far corner of the room.

Bobby just rolled his eyes and stepped to the side of his partner so he would be mostly out of the path of her swing, if she took one. First order of business was to get her and her hair away from the hot surface of the coffeepot's burner. "Eames?" he tried as he slipped a hand tentatively between her temple and the machine and pushed her head to the other side.

Alex mumbled something and swatted a hand in the general direction of his voice. Fortunately for him, her aim was off by a mile; equally fortunately for her, he caught her wrist just in time to prevent her hand from connecting with the coffeepot in its path.

"Geez, is she always like this when she wakes up?" Deakins asked as he watched Goren lower his partner's hand back to her thigh and pin it there with his forearm.

Glad that his lunchtime conversation with Alex had prepared him for the possibility of such a comment, Bobby slowly turned his head to give Deakins a politely blank look and shrugged. "How would I know?"

The captain sighed, disappointed that once again one of the detectives had dodged his trap. "Just asking."

He didn't bother to respond to that, instead turning back to Alex's sleeping form. "Come on, Eames," he said, giving her leg a shake under his arm.

"No."

"Yes," he replied, trying not to laugh at how predictable her wake-up routine was getting. "Because Deakins is standing right here, watching you, and you really don't want him to think you're not up to being back at work, right?"

Her eyes popped open. "I'm up."

Deakins smirked. "Sure you are. Take her home, Goren. See you two in the morning."

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"I _thought _my hair smelled funny," Alex said with dawning understanding later that night. She was stretched across the length of the couch, resting her head on Bobby's leg. He'd insisted on throwing a blanket over her, and she was feeling warm and comfortable in a way that was way too nice to be legal. "Well, at least it was fresh coffee with no sugar or milk in it. I don't even want to think about trying to get that crap out."

"You and me both," he remarked absently, trying as gently as he could to separate pieces of her hair that were glued together with dried-on coffee.

"A comb might help, you know." She reached a hand out from under the blanket, intending to take her hair back from him, but he used one of his to stop it.

"I'm, uh . . . I'm kind of enjoying doing it like this."

Alex replaced her hand under the blanket and looked up at him, crossing eyes comically. "Have I told you today that you're weird?"

"Not today, no. Thanks for the reminder." Returning his attention to the strands he'd been working on, he sighed. "I think we're going to have to wash it."

"It's just coffee, I can live with it for a few days," she said quickly, turning on her side, which pulled her hair out of his hand.

"I'm not letting you out of this apartment with dirty hair."

She snorted. "Thanks, _mom_. I thought you absolutely refused to wash it again, anyway."

He opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, and shut it again.

"Bobby?" she asked, craning her neck to see his face. "You gonna answer me, or just stare at me?"

He shrugged. "I was . . . thinking."

"Uh-huh. You still didn't answer me. I thought you refused to wash my hair ever again."

"Well," he said, shifting his weight nervously, "it's not exactly one of my favorite activities." _But it would be if I was doing it in the shower and not the sink. "_But it has to get done, so it's pointless to try to avoid it."

She turned onto her back again and put her arms on top of her blanket. "You know, rumor has it that washing a woman's hair can be a really sensual experience. Wonder what we've been doing wrong . . ."

"I think it's the part involving the kitchen sink." He suppressed a smile, proud of himself for having an appropriate comeback for once. As for the part about sensuality . . . that was best ignored, he told himself.

"You think?" She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "We could always do it in the bathroom sink, instead."

"Sorry, Eames, but I don't think you're going to be doing anything sensual in the foreseeable future. That stuff generally requires, uh, a normal range of motion. And no crushed bones."

"Wanna test that theory?"

His eyes widened. "No."

"Scared of little old me," she scoffed playfully, swiveling on the couch so she could put her feet on the floor. "Guess I'll be washing my own hair tonight." With a slightly pained grunt, she got to her feet and headed for the kitchen, silently counting off the seconds in her head until he reacted.

"No way am I letting you do it by yourself," he said from a few steps behind her, reaching out to grab her wrist.

She stopped, turned around, and gave him a toothy smile as she reached down to pry his fingers off of her one-by-one. Then, satisfied by the worry that appeared on his face, she detoured down the hallway, pulling a towel out of her linen closet and then grabbing her shampoo and conditioner from the bathroom. "I'm serious when I say that you don't have to if you don't want to, Bobby. I can probably manage."

"I don't think I want to rely on 'probably,' if you don't mind," he replied, taking a step into the hallway and relieving her of the items in her arms. "I didn't really hate it that much, it's just that I'm not good at it."

"So what? It's not like you're applying for a job at 'Salon d'Alex' or something. As long as the shampoo goes in and then goes out, it's all good."

"Well, I got it so tangled last time," he said dubiously. "But if you're willing to chance it, then so am I." Shaking out the towel, he draped it around her shoulders. "Last chance to back out."

Alex just rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the kitchen.

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The phone on the kitchen wall began to ring just as they were preparing to wash out her headful of suds half an hour later. "Shit!" Alex muttered into the towel that was wrapped around her neck.

"Want me to grab it?" he asked, already reaching for a dish towel to dry his hands. He'd gotten used to picking up her phone in the past few days, since she tended to sleep through the ringing, and the few people who'd called multiple times had, in turn, gotten used to hearing a male voice answer their calls.

"Yeah, please, and tell whoever it is to hold on a second while I rinse this mess out." Having thus resolved the issue, she reached for the spray faucet, sat up a little higher on her knees, and directed the flow of water at her head.

The water running over her ears made it difficult to hear what was said when Bobby answered the phone. He found himself immensely grateful for this fact a few seconds later when he picked up the phone. "Eames residence," he mumbled into the handset, balancing it between ear and shoulder as he finished drying his hands.

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, then a confused-sounding female voice said, "Uh . . . I must have a wrong number. I was trying to call my daughter."

The towel fell to the floor, forgotten, and he froze in place as though the woman could see him. "Mrs. Eames. Um, no, you have the right number. Alex . . . she's, uh, doing something. Would you mind holding on?"

"Well, I suppose that's my only choice," Molly Eames said good-naturedly, trying not to wonder what it was that her daughter was busy doing that involved a man who was answering her phone.

He covered the phone with one hand and turned to the woman at the sink, trying not to look alarmed. "Alex."

She straightened up enough that her face was out of the sink and she could look at him, but kept her head angled into the basin so her still-soapy hair didn't drip on the floor. "Who is it?"

He sighed. "It's your mother."

"Damn it! Tell her to hold on." She turned the water pressure up and rushed through the rest of the rinse, then wrung her hair out and pushed it behind her ears, knowing that her back would end up soaked but also knowing that she couldn't talk on the phone with a towel covering her ears. "Ok, give me the phone."

"I told her to hold on," he belatedly informed her as he held out the phone.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." She took the phone from him and wandered out of the kitchen, knowing she'd left him a pile of suds on the counter to clean up. "Hi, Mom."

"Alex, you promised to call me and your father tonight."

"And the night's not over yet. Don't get yourself in a panic." Inspiration struck and she grabbed a new towel from the linen closet and began to try to dry her hair one-handed, section by section.

Her mother snorted disgustedly. "You're telling me not to panic when there's a _man _answering your phone and telling me that you're mysteriously busy?"

Alex sighed and lowered herself onto the couch. "It was just Bobby, Ma! And I take it you and Dad haven't been sharing information lately?"

"What information should we have shared?"

She allowed herself the luxury of a full-blown smirk, knowing she was about to get her father in hot water. "Dad thinks I'm shacking up with Goren, but you didn't realize it was him who answered the phone. So apparently one of you's been keeping secrets from the other."

"I beg your pardon? Why in the world would your father think you're . . . actually, what exactly _does '_shacking up' mean these days? No, forget that. Why would your father think whatever it is that he thinks, I mean."

Molly was sounding a little _too _innocent, in Alex's opinion. "Uh, I thought you were there for dinner last night. Or were you hiding in the kitchen when Rob opened his yap?"

"Ohhhh." There was a wealth of new understanding in the word. "Well yes, but Laura said that it was a trauma thing, so I just assumed . . . Was she lying? Do I need to be worried about you?"

She grinned. "Not was far as my shacking up or not shacking up, you don't. But if you understood what Laura said, then why is Dad convinced that I need a lecture on the topic of not dating my partner?"

"When did he lecture you on that?" she asked, trying to remember if she had heard such a discussion at dinner the night before.

"Today. In the middle of the squad room." Ok, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he might as well have not pulled her into the hall, since everyone probably overheard anyway.

Molly drew in a sharp breath. An abrupt series of clunking sounds, followed by a dry rustling, passed through the phone lines. "Johnny!" her mother's voice screamed. "Get in here!"

Her command was followed by more strange noises, then loud, muffled voices, and Alex pictured her mother dropping the phone on the table and then picking it up again while holding her father by one ear. Giggling at the thought, she put the receiver holes-up in her lap so she could hear when Molly started to speak into the phone again and took the opportunity to use two hands on her hair, trying to comb her fingers through it.

"You're done already?" Bobby asked as he entered the room, surprised to see that she didn't have the phone to her ear.

"Nah." She nodded down at the phone balanced on her knees. "She's busy screaming at my dad so I decided to give myself a break.

He blinked. "Should I ask?"

"Probably better not to until I finish with them. Feel free to pull up some couch and eavesdrop, though," she added, patting the cushion next to her. Her other hand hit a snarl in her hair and she winced. "Ouch."

He cocked his head to the side, studying her for a moment. "You want me to do that for you?"

"Do what? Detangle my hair?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you want me to."

Alex raised her eyebrows and smiled. "I'm starting to regret that I'm _not _actually shacking up with you. There's a comb on the bathroom counter."

"Shacking up?" he echoed over his shoulder as he went in search of it item in question.

"Somehow 'cohabiting' doesn't sounds nearly as racy. I told my mom that Dad thinks you and I are shacking up."

"Alex," he groaned. "Don't you think they dislike me enough already _without _you saying things like that?"

"No, it's ok. Apparently Laura did explain the trauma nightmares thing last night, it's just that my dad chose not to believe it. So Mom's fine with you and me. It's-" She was interrupted by a squawk from the phone. "Hold that thought," she told him, picking up the phone as he emerged from the bathroom with the comb. "Mom?"

"Your father apologizes, Alex." Molly sounded slightly breathless, and Alex wondered exactly what she had been doing in the past minute.

"Yeah, I bet he does." She jumped slightly as Bobby touched the comb to her head, then relaxed and tipped her head back to smile at him. "What'd you do, threaten to make him sleep on the couch?"

"I am _above _that, young lady!" she said haughtily. Then, after a pause, she added, "I threatened to make him sleep outside."

Alex burst out laughing, causing Bobby's unsteady combing to rake the phone.

"What was that noise?" her mother asked.

"Brushing my hair," she said casually. "I'm impressed that Dad's still scared of you after all these years."

"Well, I've always said that when you've got an opinionated husband, it's best to make him toe the line."

"Right, and I'm sure Dad's been letting you think that for thirty-odd years."

"Are you telling me that you let your boyfriends be in charge, Alexandra?" Molly said in a voice dripping with skepticism. "Somehow I doubt it, not after growing up in this house."

She looked up at Bobby, who gave her a politely blank smile. "Ok, I guess you have a point there. It's either be in charge or have no one even notice I'm there because he's so big."

A beat of silence. _"_Who's 'so big'?"

Damn it, she hadn't even realized she'd said that. "No one. It was just a generic 'he'."

"No, you're talking about someone in particular. You said he's big. Do you have a boyfriend you're not telling me about?"

Molly Eames was not a stupid woman, and Alex knew that it would only take her mother seconds to connect the dots. Time for a tactical retreat. "Hey, Mom, I have to go. No, really," she added quickly when her mother started to protest. "There's, uh . . . soup burning on the stove. Love you, bye!" She stabbed at the _off _button with a little too much force and fought the urge to throw the phone across the room.

Bobby leaned forward over the back of the couch so he could see her face. "What was that all about? And why were you talking about being in charge of me?"

She sighed heavily and sagged against the couch. "Don't ask."


	29. Plausible deniability

A/N: I just wrote 30 pages in 2 days on the history of Czech nationalism. I tried to work on this fic last night and my brain was so fried everything kept coming out jumbled. It sounded like Yoda had taken up BA shipping. But after a good night's sleep, I seem to be mostly recovered...if all goes well I will have the weekend free to catch up on my other two fics before I have to start on the _next _final paper...

* * *

"I don't think we're going to find a better time than this to for me to ask," Bobby pointed out, returning the comb to her hair. "I assume it involves me?" 

"What _doesn't_, these days? I can take over," she offered, raising a hand to retrieve her comb. "Two hands free now."

He kept his grip on it. "Doing this will keep me from pacing."

"If you say so." She sighed and looked down at her hands. "You want it as a narrative or a question-and-answer?"

"Narrative," he mumbled, concentrating on a stubborn knot in her hair.

"My mom called to check on me. You already figured that out."

"Mmph." The damn knot wasn't loosening. Was it possible to permanently knot someone's hair? He hoped not.

Alex tilted her head back to see what he was so intent on. "What's wrong?"

"Knot," he told her, pushing her head back to its original position. "Go on; your mom called to check on you . . ."

It was rather interesting that he couldn't even allow himself to do something as simple as comb someone's hair unless he did it perfectly. She wondered how long he would be willing to work on the knot before giving up if it refused to cooperate. "She asked me what the hell a man was doing answering my phone. I told her, 'It wasn't a man; it was Bobby' and asked her if she and my dad hadn't been talking. She asked what I meant and I told her -"

"It wasn't a man?" he repeated sharply as he caught up to her words. "What does that mean?"

Why, he sounded almost offended, she thought, mentally rubbing her hands together. If she'd just found a chink in his armor, then she was definitely going to exploit the hole. Of course, for the moment, exploiting it meant doing nothing. "What? Oh, nothing," she murmured dismissively. "So I told her that Dad thought I was shacking up with you and asked her why he thought that, and yet she hadn't even realized that it was you who answered the phone. I said it was weird that she had understood about the nightmares but Dad hadn't and he felt like he had to lecture me about dating my partner. She was like, 'Excuse me? When did he do that?' and I told her about today. Next thing I knew, she had dropped the phone and I could hear her hollering at my dad. And that's when you walked in." Having run out of words, she took a breath and relaxed her shoulders, waiting for his reaction.

"What does that have to do with being in charge of me like I heard you tell her, though?" he said. "And I want to know why I'm not counted as a man."

"We were just joking around because when she came back to the phone she said my dad apologized and I asked what she'd done to him to get him to do that. She reminded me that she's got him scared of her and told me not to act surprised at it because she was sure I did the same thing with my boyfriends." She stopped, wondering if she could get away with ending it there.

"Go on," he ordered, waving the comb at her.

"Oh, fine. So I wasn't thinking and I said, 'Oh, I guess you're right because I have to be in charge or no one will notice me with him.' Which I guess sounds more specific than I meant it to be" _Suuuure it does, Alex. Just keep telling yourself that. _"She launched into a bunch of stuff about do I have a boyfriend she doesn't know about and all that and I just didn't want to answer any more questions, so I hung up."

"So . . . you weren't talking about me?"

"Are you my boyfriend?" she responded matter-of-factly.

He blinked. Was that a trick question? "Uh, no."

"Then no." She was getting better at lying to him, she decided when he didn't seem to have an answer for that. It helped that he was still distracted by the _not a man _thing, too.

"You don't have a boyfriend," he said after a second.

She turned around and, shaking her head dazedly, pulled the comb out of his hand before he could react. "You know, you may be a genius, but sometimes I wonder how you can even cross the street without tripping over your own feet."

He reached for the comb but wasn't able to pry it out of her hand. "What does that mean? Why are you being so cryptic tonight, anyway?"

"Who's cryptic?" she retorted. "I'm just talking. If you can't figure out what's going on, that's your issue."

"You know you're doing it."

Heaving a sigh, she set the comb down in her lap. "I don't even know what I've said tonight that's cryptic in the first place, so it'd be kind of hard for me to be doing it on purpose. Chill, Bobby. Sit down and we'll watch TV or something."

"I don't want to . . .!" He tore a hand through his hair in annoyance. "I just want to understand what you're talking about when I converse with you, is that so unusual?"

"Yes," she said simply, wondering as she started to comb her hair again how far he'd let her goad him before he blew up.

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Damn it, Alex!"

She hid a smile. "Would you please calm down? I don't know what you're all worked up about, anyway. I told you the whole story of my conversation with my mom, it's not like I'm hiding anything new from you!"

"New?" he repeated, pouncing on the word, which had seemed out of place in her statement. "So there _is_ something you're hiding from me?"

"Maybe I'll tell you if you volunteer to go make popcorn," she said with a sweet smile. "It'd put me in the right mood, you know?"

He gave her an incredulous look, then let out a disgusted breath and headed for the kitchen, asking over his shoulder, "What kind of mood do you need to be in before you can tell me what you're hiding?"

"Who says I'm hiding anything?"

"You're . . . I . . .!" She heard his fist thump against the kitchen wall, followed by a groan of annoyance.

"Your face is turning red, Bobby," Alex called.

He threw the bag of popcorn into the microwave and scowled at the wall that blocked his view of her. "You can't see me, so how would you know what color I am?"

"Because I know you. And you turn red when you get frustrated about running out of leads." She stretched out lengthwise on the couch, relishing the opportunity to rest her back, as she listened to the popcorn begin to pop and Bobby continue to be silent. He was definitely nearing the limits of his patience, but the problem was that she didn't know _exactly_ where the end of his patience was - she'd never attempted to push him to it before. She hoped that she'd have enough warning before he broke to put on her most disarming smile.

The popping began to slow down and Alex shifted her weight nervously. He was still standing silently in the kitchen, and silence was an unnatural state for her partner. "Bobby?"

"What?"

"How come you're not talking?"

His only answer was the sound of the microwave door opening and then banging shut. She listened to him open the bag of hot popcorn, waiting anxiously for the sound of his footsteps returning to the room.

"What do you want me to talk about? he asked as he re-entered the room. "Given that you're intent on talking in riddles tonight, and I don't feel like talking to myself."

"I thought you wanted to talk about what I'm hiding," she said placidly.

Bobby blinked. "I did. I mean, I do. Sit up." Not letting her even try to do it alone, he put an arm under her shoulders and lifted her upper body so that he could sit under it, then laid her back down with her head on his legs and smoothly dropped the bag of popcorn on her stomach.

"Hot!" she squeaked, more from reflex than anything else. Sure, the bag was hot, but her clothes were between it and her, providing protection. "That wasn't nice, Bobby." That said, she left the bag lying on her stomach for the time being and calmly reached into it for a handful of popcorn.

He looked down at her, watching her munch on the popcorn. "Are you going to talk, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?"

Alex stopped chewing and gave him a thoughtful look. "Depends on how you intend to do the prying."

"Uh . . ." He searched his brain for something he could threaten her with, but couldn't think of anything that she'd dislike that he could bring himself to do.

"Ok, as far as interrogation techniques go, the 'uhhh' one sucks," she told him, imitating his mumble. "Try again."

"I could take away the popcorn."

"I won't let you have it. The warm bag feels good on my stomach," she protested, playing along as she tried to decide what to do to annoy him next.

"So I'll put my hand there instead," he shot back. "You said it's just as good."

Alex took a second to double-check with herself that he'd actually said that. "Dare you."

"Dare me to what? Pry it out of you, or take the popcorn?"

"Both."

He plucked the bag out of her hands without further comment. "There. Now talk."

"That was only the popcorn, not the prying," she pointed out, pouting.

"Alex, so help me, if you don't start talking . . ."

She glanced at the bag of popcorn in his left hand, then grabbed his right hand andsettled it under her shirt over her ribs. "Hmm, better. Warm. Now, what is it you want me to explain, again?"

"Why I'm not a man." He was so busy watching his hand rise and fall with her breathing that he actually got the words out without stumbling on them.

"Oh, that. Haven't you ever heard someone use the line 'He's not a _mmph_, he's my _mmph'_?" she asked, replacing the nouns with a closed-lip grunt to indicate _fill in the blank here_.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain how it applies to me."

She shrugged. "You're not a man, you're my partner."

He stared down at her in consternation, then raised his eyes and looked away. "Oh. I thought maybe it was . . . something different."

"Like what?" she asked with genuine curiosity. She'd expected him to be stung by her explanation - that was part of the reason she was giving it in the first place - but she hadn't anticipated him suggesting a different interpretation.

He kept his eyes off her, but his free hand dropped the popcorn bag and rose of its own volition to touch her hair, spreading out the still-damp strands over his thighs. "I, uh . . . I mean, I wasn't thinking it was anything specific . . . I was just thinking that maybe it wasn't that. What you just said it was, I mean."

She refrained from making a comment about his obvious nervousness. "Why's that?"

"Well, it's just that saying a guy doesn't count as a man to you . . . would usually indicate that you see him as asexual. Or effeminate, I suppose."

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch at his choice of words. "Asexual, huh?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but his hand remained relaxed on her head and he didn't speak.

"You got a reason for thinking I don't see you as asexual, then?" she prodded, fascinated by his reaction to this conversation.

He flexed his fingers slightly over her stomach. "I just thought that . . . you know, some of the things you've said have seemed like . . ." He stopped there, unsure how to end the sentence. _They've seemed to indicate that you want me to throw you over my shoulder and take you to bed_? Or maybe _they've seemed like you enjoy kissing me way too much for either of us to be sexless_?

"Bobby?" she prompted when she noticed that his eyes were starting to glaze over. "Things I've said have seemed like . . . what?" It was extremely interesting, to Alex's way of thinking, that after the myriad ways she'd come on to him in the past week, he could still think she might not be interested. Obviously his self-confidence was slightly lacking when it came to women, or at least to her.

"Have seemed like you definitely thought of me as . . . uh, male." He looked down at his hand again, remembering the day he'd spent hours in bed with her, his hand stretched across her abdomen as he watched her sleep.

"You're turning red again," she informed him with a tiny smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing, really." He was aiming for a careless tone, but his words came out sounding lifeless, instead.

"Hey." She reached up to touch his cheek softly. "You want to know why I felt like that was the right thing to say? Besides so my mom didn't freak out, I mean."

He started at the touch of her hand, pulling her hair as his hand jerked.

"Ow!" She dropped her hand from his face to his hand and, covering his with hers, slid it out of her hair, relocating both their hands to the couch, near her hip. "I want to keep my scalp attached to the rest of me, if you don't mind."

"Sorry. Uh, yes, I would like to know."

Alex sighed, wondering if she was about to make yet another in the long line of mistakes she'd been making with him since he started taking care of her. "Even if I did see you as, uh, not asexual," she began, careful to couch her words in a hypothetical, "you've been doing everything you can to make it clear that you don't want me thinking of you like that. I just figured maybe I should start accepting it." Her words were mostly true, although in reality she was far from accepting anything of the sort.

"What?" he blurted staring down at her. "When have I done that?"

"Well, let's see." She pulled her hand out of his and began ticking things off on her fingers: "When you kissed me that first day and I started kissing you back, you almost dropped me in your rush to get away from me . . ."

"Alex, that -" he attempted.

She waved her hand at him, silently ordering him to be quiet. ". . . the fact that up 'til tonight, you've been trying to keep from touching me as much as I'd let you get away with . . ."

"That's not -"

"The fact that you've spent the past week sleeping almost fully clothed . . ."

"Sweatpants aren't exactly -"

"Yeah," she said with a snort, "sweatpants _and _a long-sleeved shirt. And that's on the days you bother to change out of your work clothes at all. And did I mention the way you desperately avoided the question when I asked last week whether you liked kissing me? Oh, and then there's -"

"Enough!" he broke in, putting his hand over her mouth and glaring at her. "I get your point, but your interpretation of those things is flawed."

She stuck her tongue out against his palm and smirked up at him when he yanked his hand away. "How is it flawed?"

"Because you set yourself on a path of induction that first day, and -"

"Hold on," she interrupted. "English, please."

"That was English, and I know you know what induction is, but fine. You _came to a conclusion _on that first day, and you've been fitting everything that happened since to fit that theory."

"Not a chance, Goren. Don't try to tell me I made this all up," she snapped.

"I'm not saying you made it up. I'm just saying that there's an alternative viewpoint."

"And what _is _that alternate viewpoint? Do tell."

He opened his mouth, took a deep breath in preparation to talk, then abruptly closed it again. "Damn it."

"What now?"

"You purposely backed me into this corner."

"Corner?" she echoed, pointedly looking around the room. "We're nowhere near a corner, sorry."

"_Verbal _corner, Eames. You've been maneuvering the whole conversation to get us here."

Back to her last name, she noted. She'd definitely gotten under his skin. "So what if I have? Not that I'm admitting any guilt," she added. "But if it happened to be true, why would you have a problem with it?"

"It's not polite to manipulate your friends," he said, trying for humor.

"Is _that_ what you are?" she asked, using the same infuriating intonation that Deakins had used earlier in the day when he asked her a similar question.

"What else would I be?"

"You have to answer my question before I'll answer yours."

"Fine. Yes, I'm your friend. Now answer _my _question."

"Ok." She paused, making a show of idly adjusting her shirt and pushing back her hair, wasting time until she could tell he was about to lose patience. "You could be any number of things, along with being a friend. Boyfriend, mortal enemy, friend with benefits, best friend . . . you get the picture."

"Should I bother to ask what a 'friend with benefits' is?"

"Probably not, considering you want to avoid having my father think you're using me for sex."

He choked on a breath at the mention of her father and sex in the same sentence. "He thinks that?"

"Nah. At least, not yet. Right now he seems to think I'm using _you, _for god-knows-what purpose. Mid-life crisis, maybe."

He sighed. "That's not much better. And I don't think women are allowed to have mid-life crises."

She copied his sigh. "Well, there goes my plausible deniability."

"For what?"

"For the fact that I'm spending my night having this conversation! I _have _to be irrational in some way, because there's no way a sane Alex would spend all this time and energy just trying to get you to spill your guts."

"You started the conversation," he pointed out. "And exactly what guts am I supposed to spill?"

She stared at him for a long second, then blinked and slowly shook her head. "You remember what I said earlier about being surprised you can cross the street?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm downgrading that to 'I don't know how you get out of bed in the morning without falling on your face'."

He frowned. "You know, if you're going to insult me, it would be more polite to do it so I understand exactly what you're insulting."

"The day you start telling me what you're actually thinking during a conversation is the day I'll start tailoring my insults to fit your obliviousness." She gave him a cool smile. "And so far, today's not looking good."


	30. Danger zone

A/N: I'm not really satisfied with how this chapter turned out...it seems way too OOC. This is like my fourth attempt at it, though, so I don't think it's going to get any better, no matter how many times I re-write it.

* * *

He sighed and flexed his fingers again on her stomach. "What is it that I'm not telling you? You can't blame me for not saying something I don't know I'm supposed to say."

Alex snorted indelicately, then pushed his hand away and and sat up with, for once, little pain. She crossed her legs, indian style, and lifted her chin, staring him down. "How about this: you tell me why, if your reasons for keeping me at arms' length last week were that I was drugged and emotionally unstable . . . then why now, when I'm neither, are you even _less _willing to discuss things?"

He looked down at his hand and verified that it was no longer on her ribs, or anywhere else on her. "Lie back down," he coaxed, trying to ignore her question. "I know you were more comfortable like that."

"No."

"Yes."

"No! I'm fine like this, Bobby. Although you seem to have missed the memo, I_ am _getting better. Give me a couple days and I won't need to have you wash my hair, either," she said, turning her back to him as best she could, given the way she was sitting.

He sighed. "I'm not arguing with that. I just . . . don't hurt yourself just to make a point to me."

"I'll let you give me a massage later, how's that?" she shot back sarcastically, not even trying to sound like she believed it was a real option.

He just stared at her for a second. "Why are you suddenly angry with me?"

"I'm not angry! I'm just trying to have a conversation, and every time it almost happens, you derail it!"

He crossed his arms. "I'd probably be more amenable to your demands if you'd stop yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling at you." She mirrored his defensive posture, but lowered her voice a notch.

"You were yelling a minute ago."

"Well, I'm not now. So converse."

He opened his mouth obediently, then paused. "What am I supposed to be talking about?"

"Me!" She moved to stand up, but found her shoulders being held in place by his hands. "Let me up, I'm tired of this."

"Lie down," he repeated impassively, wrapping an arm around her shoulders from behind and using the weight of his body to pull her backwards. "There," he said, a measure of satisfaction in his voice, when she had her head on his legs again. Granted, she was glaring up at him, but at least she wasn't fighting him. "Don't tell me this isn't more comfortable than sitting up and twisting around every time you say something to me."

Alex found herself pinned by his arm, which was still stretched across the front of her shoulders. Actually, it had slipped a little, and now it was . . . "Bobby?" she mumbled, her chin pressing into his forearm every time she opened her mouth.

"What?"

"You have your arm around my neck."

He blinked and looked down, realizing that he had her in a position that resembled a very relaxed headlock. "Uh . . . sorry about that," he managed as he tried to extract his arm. "Are you ok?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Actually, I don't really have a problem with it being there, but I figured you would."

"Excuse me?"

She shrugged. "Well, as long as you don't squeeze, it's just kind of like being hugged upside-down."

"If you want to be hugged, it's probably safer to do it right-side up," he replied without thinking.

She raised her eyebrows. "And are you saying that right-side-up hugs are available to me now? Because I've been getting the impression they're not."

He stopped moving with his hand halfway to her hair. "It's not that . . .Well, it's just that, uh . . . oh, I don't know. I'm trying to avoid it."

She reached up and took his hand, pulling it down to rest on her shoulder. "At least you're telling the truth now. Want to go for the gold and try to actually tell me what the problem is, while you're at it?"

"It's not a good idea."

"What's not? Letting whatever it is you're afraid of happen, or telling me about it?"

"Both."

"Do you have any idea how infuriating you're being right now?"

"I'm trying not to be, really. Just tell me what it is I'm supposed to do, and I'll try to do it."

"You already asked that five minutes ago, and when I told you, you ignored it." She sighed and laced her fingers through his on her shoulder. "We're going in circles."

He looked at their joined hands, then back at her face. "You asked me why I don't want to talk about . . . things . . . with you."

She nodded and continued to look at him expectantly. "Keep talking," she ordered when he didn't add anything to his statement. "You get an A on the memorization task, but you still have the essay question to answer."

He slowly pulled his hand away from hers, and she was getting ready to throw in the towel and mutter something obscene when he said quietly, "It's dangerous."

She turned her head so she could see his face better, trying to make some sense of his statement. "What is?"

He shook his head silently and slid his arm under her shoulders to lift her up to a sitting position.

"For god's sake, Bobby, you were forcing me to lie down five seconds ago. If you want me to sit up now, all you have to do is ask," she growled, moving to support herself on her elbows so he didn't have to keep holding her up.

When she started to actually get to her feet, the hand that had been under her shoulders moved on top of them again and applied just enough pressure to counterbalance her movement. "Don't. I don't want you to move. I'm just trying to . . . show you."

She was sitting up now, her back to his side and his hand cupping one of her shoulders. "Show me what? Stop with the guessing games!"

He began to slide his fingers into her hair, then paused and seemed to consider something. "Not like this."

"Not like wha- Bobby!" she interrupted herself when he pulled his hand out of her hair and stood up. "Don't you dare try to walk away from this again."

"I'm not. Come on." Without giving her time to cooperate on her own, he reached down and pulled her up by her arms.

"Not that I'm likely to have an objection to whatever it is you're about to do," she said, resisting for a second when he tried to pull her toward the kitchen, "but do you maybe want to give me a hint?"

"No."

She sighed, wondering what was going through his head. Odds were good that it was something she'd like, given that it seemed to have been something she'd said that set him off on this, but even counting only things she'd like, there was still way too long a list of things he could do in the next few minutes. "Ok, fine, no hint. Whatever floats your boat," she said with a shrug, this time allowing him to tow her along when he tried again to pull her toward the kitchen.

He stopped short in the middle of the kitchen, between the counter and the refrigerator, and looked hard at her face. "Are you going to freak out if I move you closer to the counter?"

"Huh?" It took her a second to figure out what he was asking, then another second to figure out the answer. "I don't think so. Not now that you gave me a warning."

"Good." He put an arm around the front of her shoulders and urged her backward a few steps until his back hit the counter and her back was pressed against him. Moving his arm up to her neck and using his elbow to raise her chin, he waited a second until he was sure he wasn't going to get a negative reaction from her for the movement, then ducked his head and whispered against her ear, "I told you it would be dangerous, Alex."

She stood against him, wide-eyed, with his left arm tightly around her hips and his right loosely around her neck, and shivered, not knowing if it was from feeling his breath against her ear or from the aggressive way he was holding her to him. Whichever it was, it was also speeding up her heart; she could feel it pounding in her chest. "I'm willing to take my chances."

"Are you?" he replied with quiet intensity, his mouth still against her ear. "Better make sure, because for the next few minutes, I don't think I'm going to be up to protecting you."

She shivered again, harder this time, and decided that it wouldn't matter if it was multiplication tables he was whispering into her ear - just the sensation of his lips against it would have made her heart skip a few beats. "I don't need protection from you, Bobby. Or from whatever it is you're thinking."

"Good," he said again, his mouth traveling from her ear to her cheek. His right hand moved away from her neck, only to reappear seconds later in her hair, pulling with just enough gentle force to make her tip her head back and slightly to the side. She allowed the movement, and he kept his eyes open, watching hers darken, for a long moment before he kissed her.

Alex lifted her chin higher as their lips met, giving him better access. A second later, she felt his fingers leave her hair and was about to make a protest - somehow - when she felt his hand cup her cheek, his fingers curling around her chin where they were too long for her face.

He pulled both his hands and lips away after a few seconds and looked down at her, waiting for a reaction that would reveal to him what she felt.

Deprived of the support his hand had been providing, she let her head drop forward. In fact, she realized once she queried the rest of her body, all of her felt a little undersupported now that his arms weren't around her. She sagged back against him. "Jesus."

She expected him to respond with some remark about how he'd warned her or how he'd known this wasn't a good idea, but he did neither. Instead, he raised his hand again and used one knuckle to lightly trace a line from the scar on her temple to the now-faded bruises that circled her neck, not saying anything at all.

Without really pulling away, she turned to face him. "Bobby?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders, thumbs brushing her jaw as he leaned down to kiss her again.

Alex was perfectly willing to be distracted, and she kissed him back enthusiastically until, without thinking, she raised her arms to put them around his neck and felt a sharp pain in her side. Swallowing a startled squeak, she dropped her arms and wrapped them around his waist instead, hoping he hadn't noticed her flinch.

He noticed, of course, and without hesitation, he smoothly turned them around and lifted her onto the counter he'd been leaning against, letting his hands linger on her hips even after she was securely seated.

This time she did squeak, in surprise rather than pain, and pulled slightly away from him. "Bobby."

"What?" he responded gruffly, his eyes focused on where his hands were touching her body, instead of on her face.

"Time out." She put a hand against his chest, not pushing him away but not allowing him to lean in any closer, either.

"What?" His hands roamed up toward her waist, moving so lightly that she could hardly feel them.

She sighed. "I said 'time out.' As in, stop for a second."

He pulled his hands back and rested them on her knees. "I warned you this would be -"

"I know, I know." She laid a hand against his cheek, running her thumb over his lips. "And I'm not objecting to it, believe me. I'm just telling you to hold on for a minute."

"Why?"

"Do you always forget how to use complete sentences when you kiss a girl, or am I just special?"

That comment came from far enough out of left field to catch his attention. "I can use complete sentences. There, see?"

"Well, keep it up. 'What?' and 'Why?' get tedious after a while."

His eyes were starting to look less glazed over by the time he sighed and said, "Why did you want to stop, if it's not because you had an objection to it?"

"Well, let's see." She lifted her index finger off his cheek as if counting to one. "First off, there's the part where your conscious mind seems to have spent the last ten minutes somewhere that's definitely not here. Then," she went on, lifting the next finger, too, "there's the fact that believe it or not, I find this all slightly overwhelming. Finally," she added, looking around the room pointedly, "there's the part where we're doing this in my _kitchen_. On the counter."

He blinked. "Well, the couch would have been uncomfortable for you and I didn't think the bed was a good idea."

She just stared disbelievingly at him for a second before the absurdity got to her and she had to laugh. "Thanks," she managed when she finally got control of her giggles a minute later. "I needed that."

"Uh . . . you're welcome. So, uh . . . how do I tell when you stop being overwhelmed?"

"If you promise not to go into the utterly-focused-and-not-talking routine again, then how 'bout right now?"


	31. False start

A/N: Ahh, PG-rated smut. Only I could turn out something as ridiculous as that...

* * *

"Now?" he echoed blankly, head spinning from the combination of arousal and anxiety the events of the past few minutes had sent surging through him.

"Yeah, now. Unless you have an objection . . .?"

He blinked.

"But," she added before he could speak, "not here. Move back."

"Why?"

"Oh, not again." She took his face in her hands and pulled him closer. "Complete sentences, remember? And you need to move back so I don't jam a knee into any of your vital organs while I try to get down from here."

"I can help you down, Alex. It was me who put you up there."

"He speaks!" She looked down at the counter she was sitting on. "How did you get me up here without squishing my ribs, anyway?"

"Hips," he told her as he demonstrated in reverse. Using his body as a brake, he slowly set her down on her feet, keeping her pressed against him as he lowered her.

Alex looked down and watched her feet make contact with the floor, then moved her attention a little higher and eyed his hands, which he hadn't moved from her hips and which continued to keep her body tight against his. "Oh. Like that," she managed weakly as she watched one of his thumbs begin to work its way under the hem of her shirt.

"Mmhmm." He, too, was watching the movements his hands were making as another finger followed the first under the shirt, tracing the waistband of her pants. "Forgot you wore these today."

She pulled her eyes away from his hands and looked down at her pants - as in, pants that belonged to her, she realized. Today had been the first time that she'd been able to wear pants with a button-fly instead of an elastic waist, and they'd had a minor scuffle in the morning when he tried to overrule her clothing choice. She'd won, of course, and so she'd gotten to wear a pair of loosely-cut slacks instead of a pair of ten-sizes-too-big sweatpants.

"Hmm," she murmured, eyeing him speculatively. "They remind you that I won the fight?"

He shook his head, still concentrating on his hands. "They remind me that they're harder to take off than sweatpants."

"_What_?" She let out a startled laugh as she pulled back slightly from him so she could see his face better. "You'd be better off keeping your mind on the here-and-now, Goren."

He swallowed nervously, belatedly realizing what he'd just blurted out. "Sorry."

"You never cease to amaze me," she sighed with a dazed shake of her head. "Come on. Couch." Amused by his obvious discomfort, she pulled his hand out from under her shirt and used it to lead him toward the living room.

He followed without protest, trying to organize his thoughts in the few seconds he had between kitchen and couch.

Unfortunately, he didn't feel any more coherent by the time he sat down on the couch and pulled her down onto his lap. All he was sure of was that he liked this and she seemed to, too. "Alex?" he asked quietly as she settled herself across his legs, leaning one shoulder against him.

"What?" She settled her head against his shoulder, a small sigh of contentment on her lips.

"Uh, about what I just said in there . . ."

"It's fine." She put a hand over his mouth to stop his apology and grinned. "It just surprised me to hear it come out of your mouth right then." Sliding her hand from his mouth to his cheek, she leaned in and kissed him gently. "I like this. Why didn't we do this sooner?"

"Because I, uh . . ."

"Oh, _right_," she said, snapping her fingers as though the thought had just occurred to her. "It was because you were afraid of it. So?" she went on, looking at him curiously. "How about now?"

He pushed her hand away from his face and slid his right hand into her hair. "Alex."

"What?"

"Be quiet." The hand in her hair pulled her forward before she even realized she was moving, and by the time it occurred to her to make a noise, his mouth was covering hers, his hands on either side of her face holding her still.

Not that she had any objection to that, she decided after a second. With a quiet sigh, she relaxed against him, one hand on his chest to support herself. Her other hand started at his neck and made a slow trip down, over his collar, to the top button of his shirt. _At least he took off the tie when we got home tonight_, she thought as she fought against the stiff buttonhole. _Why do they starch these damn things, anyway?_

His fingers moved against her skin, thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones as he pushed his hands into her hair with a groan. "Alex . . ."

The top button conquered, she moved on to the next one as she whispered against his mouth, "I know." It was impossible to work the buttons at this angle, she decided, shifting so that she was facing him head-on, straddling his legs. _Ah, much better._

One of his hands moved from her hair and began to mirror the path her hand was taking on him, although he left her buttons as they were for the moment, content to skim his hand down her body. "Ribs?" he mumbled into her mouth as his hand reached the bottom hem and delved under it.

She broke away for a breath. "Play nice and don't get overenthusiastic and they should be ok, at least for this." Looking down at where his hand had come to rest on her hip rather than climb higher up her body, she gave him a teasing smile. "It's not like your hand wasn't there half an hour ago already."

"When you put it like that . . ." He trailed his fingertips up her ribcage, applying almost no pressure as he explored. "No tape?"

"Didn't do much good anyway, and it was a pain in the ass to put on," she told him as she went to work on his shirt again. "Now, can we please stop talking about my ribs?"

"What would you rather talk about?" he breathed as their lips met again.

Her hand's sudden appearance on his stomach made him jump and she giggled. "How about _your_ ribs?" she teased, rubbing a hand over the area in question.

A hum of pleasure escaped him at her touch and he let his eyes drift closed. "Whatever you want," he told her, voice trailing off as her other hand joined the first on his bare skin.

"Whatever I want, huh?" She walked her fingers up the center of his chest and settled one hand over his heart. "So I've finally found the secret to getting the great Bobby Goren to do whatever I say?"

"Ask me again sometime when you're not sitting on top of me," he managed, opening his eyes long enough to lean forward and kiss her. "It gives you an unfair advantage."

"Mmm," she agreed, shifting forward and allowing her own eyes to close as his hand moved higher up her side, barely brushing against one of her breasts. "That's kind of the point."

He stretched his hand against her skin. "You're not wearing . . ."

She paused in her exploration of his chest and looked at him in surprise. "You're just figuring that out now? I haven't been able to wear one since my ribs got busted. Probably still not for another two weeks." She sighed dramatically, then ruined the effect when it turned into a yawn. "Well, there go my fantasies about you having constantly lusted after my body for the past few weeks."

His eyes opened and he blinked. "What?"

"Well if you haven't noticed that I wasn't wearing a bra - which was really fairly obvious to anyone who looked, unfortunately - then you can't have been checking me out."

He looked at her, perplexed, for a second, and then shook his head. "Trust me, I have been. Can't explain now, though," he added, pulling her head down for a kiss. "Busy."

Instead of pulling back again, she let her forehead rest against his after the kiss ended. "Mmm, busy. Right," she murmured, leaning over his shoulder to push his shirt off him.

He shifted his hand to the center of her chest, restricting her movement, when her hips began to follow the rest of her body forward. "Alex . . ."

The shirt disposed of, she pulled back to her original position to kiss him, then looked up. "What?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing that he wasn't sure what he wanted to say_. Sorry, Eames, I don't go past second base on the first date with women who have broken bones and no doctor's note_?The thought made him choke on a laugh, which he tried to cover with a cough. "Uh . . ."

She leaned forward to put her elbows on his shoulders as she looked him in the face and asked bluntly, "You want me to get up?"

"No, why?"

She shrugged tiredly. "I'm trying to figure out what your problem is with the way I'm sitting."

He sighed and moved his mouth the mere inch he needed to to kiss her. "Nothing. Forget it," he mumbled, moving his hand from the center of her chest to the more interesting areas on either side.

"You sure?" she asked, voice rising to a squeak as his hands began to move more boldly on her.

"Mmm-hmm." He'd worry about that when they came to it, he decided. There was simply no good way to present it to her beforehand without having her either laugh at him for being a prude or slug him for presuming to know what was best for her.

But damn it, now he was well and truly distracted. He slid one of his hands around to her back, tracing the line of her spine down from her shoulders and savoring the shiver that ran through her in response. "Alex?"

She sighed. "You talk a lot, anyone ever tell you that?"

He ignored that. "I told you this would be dangerous."

"Huh?" She looked down at his hands on her and hers on him, and blinked. "Sorry, but I don't feel endangered in the least."

"You probably should."

"What am I in danger of? Certainly not you - right now it seems a lot more likely that I'd ravish _you _than vice versa."

"That's not what I mean. This, now, is fine. It's what happens when we leave the apartment that's dangerous."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You're not bringing this up now. _Tell _me you're not bringing this up now."

"It would be a good idea to -"

"No," she cut him off, swinging one leg around so she was no longer straddling him and then moving off his lap entirely. "I'm not doing this tonight, Bobby. Leave it alone."

"But -"

"_No." _She stood up with a groan, then turned to look at him, attempting a weak smile. "If you're going to keep on this topic, I'm going to go to bed. Today was . . . tiring." Not waiting for his reply, she walked toward the bedroom, then paused in the doorway and turned back toward him. "Bobby?"

Still trying to figure out what was so bad about trying to work things out in advance, he didn't realize until a second later that she was talking to him. "Uh, what?"

"It would be nice if you wouldn't wear a long-sleeved shirt to bed tonight." With that, she turned and disappeared into the dark bedroom.


	32. Backslide

A/N: Step right up, step right up to Kamikaze Angst Fest '05! Tickets are free if you review afterward!

* * *

She awoke the next morning to the sight of Bobby, already dressed in his suit pants but still shirtless, pacing her bedroom with a cell phone to his ear. _Her _phone, she realized after a glance at the nightstand showed that his was still lying there. Without bothering to lift her head off the pillow, she opened her eyes the rest of the way and said, "Did you sleep like that?"

His pacing came to an abrupt halt as he realized that she was awake. "Uh, no," he managed guardedly, tilting the phone away from his mouth so as not to confuse whoever was on the other end. "I wore sweatpants."

"But no shirt?"

He sighed and rubbed one hand over the stubble on his face. "Yes, but would you please - No! No I'm here," he cut himself off, turning away from her, as the voice on the other end of the phone returned. "Oh, good. Thank you. Uh, she'll probably . . ." A short pause. "Yeah, I guess you know her well enough to expect that already."

"Bobby," Alex hissed from the bed, having had no difficulty figuring out that he was talking about her to whoever was on the other end of the phone. "Who _is _that?"

He waved a hand over his shoulder, shushing her, as he nodded against the phone. "So we'll say, like, an hour? . . . Ok, great. Thank you to both of you." He closed the phone but didn't turn around.

"Bobby," Alex repeated impatiently. "Who the hell was that?"

"Sean." Reluctant to face her wrath, he kept his back to her as he began to rummage through her closet for one of the shirts he'd hung there.

"Se - Bobby! " she said indignantly, pushing the covers aside and beginning to stand up. "I told you I didn't want you to call him!"

He selected a shirt and pulled it off its hanger. "I'm not taking you in with me today. You're too tired."

"I'm not tired! I'm awake right now, aren't I, and you didn't even have to wake me up!" Irked by his lack of response, she stalked over to where he stood and gave his shoulder a hard push. "Look at me! I'm not tired, damn it."

He finally turned toward her as he began buttoning his shirt. "Don't bother arguing with me about this. You've been pushing yourself way too hard, and last night only made things worse. You need to relax for a day."

"Last . . . I can't believe you!" Glaring at him, she planted a hand in the center of his chest and shoved, backing him up toward the wall. "Is this your revenge for me not wanting to play dissect-the-relationship with you last night?"

He pulled her hand off him as gently as he could and forced it back to her side with one hand while he buttoned his collar with the other. "No! This is not a 'revenge' of any kind. I'm not _that_ petty."

Alex snorted and pushed past him to get to the closet. "I think I'll try to wear one of my own shirts today."

"You're welcome to try," he replied, not taking the bait she was so eagerly dangling in front of him. "If you can get it on without any pain and without any help, then you're ready to. Now, would you please listen to me for a second?"

"About what?" she replied sharply, yanking a blouse off its hanger. "I don't want to hear any more about what I'm not 'allowed' to do."

"I was going to tell you what Sean and I decided," he said mildly. "Do you not want to hear that, either, and just take your chances when he gets here to pick you up?"

"I'm not going with him. I'm going with you." She moved to unbutton her shirt and watched as he spun around to put his back to her so fast that he almost fell. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Or have you forgotten last night already?" she taunted as she pulled on her pants.

"You know I haven't," he said softly. "You're spending the day with Joanna doing . . . whatever it is women do to relax. Getting a manicure or something. Don't tell me you won't enjoy that."

"It's not a matter of what I'll enjoy!" she retorted in a voice that was only a few decibels below yelling. "It's a matter of me wanting to go to work and you having no right to stop me."

He turned back to face her, too impatient now to wait until she was fully dressed to talk to her. "Eames, listen to me."

"Why should I?" She was so infuriated that her hands were shaking as she tried to button the loose blouse and she muttered a curse.

"Let me." He pushed her hands away and efficiently finished the rest of the buttons. "I want you to listen to me so I know you understand what I'm saying. This is not a revenge. It's not me punishing you. It's not even me being too afraid that you'll hurt yourself to let you go to work."

"Then what is it? You being a control freak?"

"No." He crossed the room and sat on the end of the bed, pulling her to stand in front of him. Taking her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him, he went on, "You need a chance to relax, Alex. To just spend a day not trying to prove to everyone how tough you are by working yourself to the point of exhaustion. Besides," he added after a short pause, looking away uncomfortably, "we need to get out of each other's pockets for a while."

She waited silently for a few seconds, giving him a chance to say something to soften the blow of his last sentence, but he didn't seem to have anything to add. "Out of each other's pockets," she finally said in a tightly controlled voice. "You're right, of course. I've been telling you for weeks that you didn't have to force yourself to take care of me. Guess you finally caught up to what I was saying, huh?"

"Alex . . ."

"No, it's ok," she told him, turning away and snatching up a pair of shoes as she headed for the bedroom door. "I understand. When is Sean picking me up?"

"About half an hour. But Alex -"

She ignored him. "I think I'll wait for him outside."

"No you won't! It's below freezing out there!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the apartment door as she reached for the knob.

"Ok, fine. I just thought I'd give you a chance to get all your stuff together without me in your hair." Without waiting to see his reaction to that, she turned and went into the kitchen, leaning forward against the counter as she pretended to contemplate the coffee maker so she could avoid looking up.

He followed her, but stayed in the doorway of the room as he asked quietly, "Are you kicking me out?"

Still looking down at the counter, she shook her head. "No, but from what you've said in the past few minutes, I get the impression that you're kicking _yourself _out."

"Well, I'm not!" He slammed a hand into the doorframe in frustration. "Damn it, all I said was that we should get out of each other's pockets, not that I should leave you on your own while you're hurt!"

"I'm not that 'hurt' anymore, Bobby. You just watched me dress myself. Last night I did half the washing when we did my hair. I can get by without you if you don't want to be here." The words stung even her, and as she spoke she fought the urge to apologize, to beg him to stay.

"What if I _do _want to be here?" he challenged, walking farther into the room until he was standing behind her. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he sighed. "I wasn't trying to start a fight, Alex. I just thought you should give yourself a day off - from _everything_ that's been stressing you. Myself included.

She shook her head again but didn't turn around or speak.

"Come on, please. At least look at me?" he coaxed, tugging on her shoulder to try to make her turn around. She resisted the movement and he didn't dare pull any harder than he already had, knowing it would hurt her ribs, so he moved next to her and bent to the side to see her face. "Alex?"

"Why do you have to make things so _hard_?" she burst out suddenly, surprising them both. "Why can't you just leave it alone and enjoy things?"

"Leave _what_ alone?" he asked, wondering if he'd missed a topic change or if he was just denser than he thought.

"Everything."

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're asking me."

Whatever response she would have made was cut off by the sound of a knock on the door.

"Must be Sean," Alex said quickly, backing away from the counter and the man leaning against it. "I'll, uh . . . I'll see you tonight." Not giving him time to think of a response, she grabbed her purse and made for the door.

"Alex!"

Her hand on the doorknob, she turned around to watch him approach. "What?" she asked warily.

In answer, he put his arms around her and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. "Please, try to let yourself unwind today."

With a heavy sigh, she nodded against his shoulder. "I'll try." She turned the knob and pulled the door open, then looked back at him. "Bye, Bobby."

"Bye," he echoed almost soundlessly as he watched the door close behind her.


	33. Visitor's pass

A/N: Don't you love how in my CI universe, everything in New York is a three-second drive from everything else?

A/N 2: Currently avoiding my psycholinguistics paper...interesting how my fic production goes up when I'm procrastinating...

* * *

"Anything wrong?" Sean asked her as the elevator descended from her floor to street level. "You look pissed."

"Yeah, well, Goren's . . . annoying. And you should know better than conspire with him behind my back."

"Oh, come on. You could use a day off and you know it. And this way Jo won't whine to me about how I never take her to do girlie things."

Alex blinked. "Are you going with us?"

"Hell no!" Sean replied hastily. "I like to stay out of beauty parlors as much as possible, thanks. But I'll probably join you guys for lunch. Depends on what you decide to do with the day."

"Hmm." She looked over her shoulder at the empty back seat. "So, uh, why isn't she with us?"

He glanced at her quickly, then looked back at the road. "I need to stop at work on the way. I figured she'd be bored."

"Oh, and I won't be?"

He snorted. "Uh yeah, somehow I doubt you will be. You're a double-whammy to those guys. Well, maybe triple-whammy, actually."

"I'm a what?"

"Well, not only are you _the _Eames who has made the heroic recovery from being attacked by a suspect, but you're also Bobby Goren's partner. They know him in Narcotics, remember? Plus, guys tend to think you're hot, for some reason."

Alex groaned. "Wonderful. So I'm going to be bombarded by a bunch of hero-worshipping, Goren-question-asking, drooling cops."

"Sounds about right. Oh, come on," he said when she groaned again, "don't tell me it's not nice to get your ego fed every now and then. Besides, I'm going to be right there, anyway, so just give a yell if you want to leave."

"Exactly what do you need to do here today, anyway?" she asked as he angled his car into the precinct parking lot.

Sean sighed. "Paperwork that I forgot to do last night that my captain's up my ass about."

That got a grin out of her as he helped her out of the car. "Welcome to the world of detectives, my friend. Paperwork tripled, time on the street cut in half."

"You miss working on the street? Hey, thanks Masterson," he cut off as a squat detective in a brown trench coat held the door for Alex.

Masterson grunted noncommittally. "Cap's not gonna like you bringing in a girlfriend."

Alex snorted while Sean rolled his eyes. "That's why I left the girlfriend at home. This is my sister. Alex, meet Detective Nolan Masterson."

"Sister . . ." Masterson repeated, looking at her with slightly more appreciative eyes. "Nice to meet you, Alex. Sorry 'bout the assumption."

"No problem. Nice to meet you too," she said with a polite smile. Maybe this visit to Narcotics wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"Yeah," Sean blithely continued as the threesome walked into the squad room, "people don't usually peg her as a cop. Must have something to do with the shortness."

"Sean," Alex growled warningly.

Masterson stopped walking abruptly and snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Oh my god, you're the sister!"

Alex blinked as the noise of the room enveloped them. "Didn't we just establish that?" she shouted over the din.

Masterson turned a dull red above his collar. "Uh, yeah. I just didn't realize you were the one who, you know, got hurt and everything. Now I'm _really _glad to meet you."

Heads were beginning to turn at the desks scattered around the room, detectives studying the three newcomers. "Come on," Sean told her, giving her hand a tug. "My desk's in the back."

"Thank the lord for that," she muttered as she followed him. Sinking down in the chair next to her brother's desk, Alex surveyed the room with a sigh. For the most part, it looked like every other bullpen she'd ever seen, although it wasn't anywhere near as modern as Major Case's.

"Do they make you do endless call-out forms?" Sean asked as he idly flipped through the stack of paper on his desk. "Or do you special cops get someone else to do it?"

"Don't I wish. We have to do our own, unfortun-"

"Eames!" a voice boomed from a few feet away.

Alex and Sean both reflexively looked up and said, "What?"

The speaker, a tall, middle-aged man with olive skin and a bald head, stopped and looked at them curiously. "Eames," he repeated, more slowly this time, "you know we don't like unapproved civilians in here. I know you're new and all, but you should know that much."

Alex glanced at her brother and swallowed her amusement at seeing that he looked totally cowed by the man. "You must be Sean's captain?" she asked with a bright smile, carefully working herself out of her chair and then holding out a hand. "I'm his sister. I'm with Major Case, so you don't need to worry about whether I'm a stray civilian."

"Captain Ray Silva," the man said slowly as he grasped her hand and examined her more closely, noting the stiff way she held herself. "You're injured? You must be Alex, then - the one in all the papers."

She gave him another smile. "Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to barge in on you like this. Just came along for the ride."

"Oh, no, it's fine. Glad to have you here," he added. "Maybe you can teach these guys a few things about being a cop while you're visiting."

"Uh," she said nervously, praying that he didn't try to introduce her around, "I doubt I know anything these guys don't. I just had the questionable luck of hitting the violent-perp jackpot."

"She's partnered with Bobby Goren," Sean said without looking up from his work, and Alex could still hear the smirk in his voice, even if she couldn't see it. He was enjoying seeing her unsettled by all the attention. She made a mental note to poison the next cup of coffee she bought him.

"No shit?" Silva said. "I worked with him on the street for a while before we both got promoted. How's he doing?"

"Uh, he's ok. Still alive and kicking."

"Still weird?"

Suspicious of the comment, Alex mentally pulled back from the other man. "Still unorthodox in his work, if that's what you mean."

Silva rolled his eyes. "In other words, yes. And obviously he acquired the ability to make nice with his partners somewhere between here and there." Noticing that the smile had frozen on Alex's face, he stopped. "Uh, sorry. I'm not insulting him, really. He and I actually got along pretty well."

"Hmm."

Silva, who really had liked Bobby Goren and all his weirdness, mentally kicked himself. "Seriously, Alex, I'm sorry for phrasing it that way. You know . . . why don't you let me introduce you around to a few people here who worked with him?"

Hoping for rescue, Alex glanced down at Sean, who just used one hand to wave her away, still not looking up. "Sure, why not," she told Silva, adding another black mark next to Sean's name on her psychic hit list.

* * *

"Make any new friends?" Sean asked her half an hour later as they got back into his car.

She sighed and slumped down in her seat, running her hands over her face. "Well, let's see. In the past half hour, I've been propositioned five times - twice by guys wearing rings - I've had my height pointed out loudly three times, I've had my partner made fun of six times, and your captain tried to grab my ass on the way out. Nope," she said with fake cheer, "all in all I wouldn't say I've made any new friends."

Sean choked on a sip of the lukewarm coffee he'd been about to put in the cupholder. "He grabbed your _ass_?"

She grinned. "He would have, if I hadn't taken a giant step away from him."

"Jesus, are there any guys in there that I _don't_ need to consider injuring for the way they treated you?"

"Hmm. Masterson was very nice, nary a grab or an insult. Detective Murray seemed to honestly like Bobby and also didn't try to grab me. And . . . wait, was there another one? . . . no, I guess that's it. You can let Masterson and Murray live."

"What'd I tell you about you being a triple-whammy? This is going to make for an interesting week in Narcotics, let me tell you. But anyway, ready to head home? Jo's probably standing by the door with a frying pan, waiting to smash me for running so late."

"Sounds like a plan," Alex agreed. "But can we stop to get me coffee on the way? There was no way I was drinking that squad room swill."

"Yeah, someone might have slipped you a mickey and tried to take you home with them. Speaking of which, I want a full report on who propositioned you and how."

"Don't worry about it, Sean. I got used to it years ago. No reason start trouble. And Sean . . .for the love of all that's holy, don't tell Bobby about it!"


	34. Girls' day out

"Ewww," Joanna moaned later that morning. "Now I'm glad Sean never lets me see where he works. His captain _groped _you? That's so . . . skeezy!"

Alex shifted her hands on the table they were splayed out on, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn't smudge her newly-polished nails. "Yeah, well, there's a certain level of tolerance I've built up from working almost exclusively with men for years. But being groped by someone ranked higher than lieutenant, and so blatantly . . . that's a new one, I think."

Jo giggled and adjusted her own hands. "Last I heard, Sean's terrified of the guy - which I actually find extremely amusing. Did he manage to say something to him about it? "

"You think I'm stupid?" Alex replied, aghast at the thought. "I didn't tell him about it 'til we were out the door and in the car, believe me. I've got enough issues with protective brothers as it is, I don't need to create more problems."

"Hmm." Jo lifted one hand closer to the light and examined her nails. "You think this red is too loud?"

"Maybe," Alex said thoughtfully, "but who the hell's going to say anything? Three-quarters of the people you see in a given day only see you with gloves on. The only person who's going to pay attention to your nails is Sean. Well, and any other guy who checks you out. And trust me, guys like red."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She put her hand back on the table and sighed dramatically. "It's just that they won't match my teddy-bear scrubs."

Alex laughed. "I don't think the hospital cares much about color coordination on its nurses. Now _my _polish," she added, displaying a hand, "is the opposite - probably not loud enough. It would have been interesting to see the looks I got if I went to work with fire-engine-red nails."

Jo studied the shimmery pink that covered Alex's nails. "Yeah, it is kinda . . . subdued. You know," she went on with a crafty look, "there's still time to change it. I'm sure they won't mind redoing you if you give them a big tip."

She bit her lip and looked at her nails again. "You think I should? It'd shock the hell out of Bobby."

Jo raised a pointed eyebrow but didn't comment on the reference. "I think you should. Come on, we'll match. It'll freak Sean out."

"Well . . . fine, ok," Alex said with a grin. "God, how pathetic is it that painting my nails red is what counts as wild rebellion in my life?"

Jo waved the manicurist back over to their table and explained that her friend had changed her mind and would like a new color. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said a few minutes later as she watched the woman start to re-paint Alex's left hand, "I think the whole sleeping with your partner thing is pretty wildly rebellious, at least judging by the shit fit your dad had when he heard about it."

"Hah." She used a knuckle to scratch her nose. "My dad thinks I'm still sixteen. I tried to explain to him that my sex life was actually a whole lot wilder back when I _was_ sixteen than now, but I don't think he quite got the message. He actually had the nerve to go to my captain and start asking questions."

"Questions about Bobby?" Jo winced at the thought. "Should I be afraid to ask what kind of questions?"

Schooling her face into a look of complete exasperation, Alex rolled her eyes. "Let's just say that Dad can sleep comfortably at night now that he knows Bobby's not a wife-beater."

"_What_?" She stared at Alex in shock for a second. "He asked your _captain _that? My god, what do you do to damage-control something like that?"

"I started by kicking my dad out of the squad room, for one thing." She glanced at the rack of nail polish bottles that sat at one end of the table. "Should we get matching toes?"

"Of course. We simply can't have clashing hands and feet," Jo replied with mock-horror. "What would our menfolk say when they see both at the same time?"

Alex snorted. "Maybe your 'menfolk.' Mine is officially clueless and probably doesn't even notice that I _have _nails."

Jo considered Alex's remark for a second before saying, "You know, I still want to hear the rest of the story about but your dad, but before we get back to that - can I point out that that was the second time in five minutes that you referenced Bobby in a context where I was talking about boyfriends?"

Alex nodded with a tired sigh, not even bothering to deny it. "I need to learn to keep my mouth shut. I did almost the same thing on the phone with my mom last night and I hung up so fast after I realized it that she didn't even get to say goodbye."

"So what gives? Is he or isn't he?"

"I would much rather discuss this over a bottle of wine or five, if it has to be discussed, but that's still against doctor's orders, so . . . I guess I have to settle. Short answer is that I don't have a friggin' clue if he is or not. We definitely haven't 'slept together' in the sense everyone thinks we have . . . although that's not necessarily from lack of trying on my part."

"What's the long answer?"

She smiled ruefully. "Let's just say that everyone in the world except for Bobby already thinks we are. Which ties in neatly to the story about my dad, by the way - after I booted him out, I went to my captain expecting to either get chewed out or be totally humiliated, and you know what he said to me when I asked about what my dad talked to him about?"

Jo blew on the nails of her right hand, trying to speed up the drying. "No, what?"

"He said, and I quote," she began, then switched into a deeper voice in imitation of Deakins, " 'Alex, there are some things about your life that I don't want to know. And I want to make _sure_ I _never_ know them. I think you know what I mean.'"

"You're kidding. Like, he already thought you and Bobby were . . .?"

"Yes! Like it came as absolutely no surprise to him and he was puzzled by the fact that I was freaking out."

"I take it he's not an ass-grabbing type of captain, then, if he's cool about something like that?"

Alex burst out laughing, startling the woman who had just started to paint her pinky nail. "Sorry," she told the woman. When the manicurist just shook her head and chuckled, Alex turned back to Jo. "My god, no he's not, and he better never become one! He's actually a pretty decent guy, as brass go."

"Ok, so let me get this straight: your boss thinks you two are playing house and has no problem with it; your whole family thinks you're screwing him and your dad's afraid he's going to beat you up . . . and Bobby's not acknowledging that maybe the rest of the world has figured out what's going on even if he hasn't?"

"Yep, that pretty much covers it. Except I think he's gone beyond just 'not acknowledging' to 'actively being in denial.'"

"I'm starting to think you're going to need more than just new nail polish to counterbalance all that. Like maybe a whole makeover."

"Not a chance in hell, Jo," Alex said quickly. "I like my look how it is."

"Hmmmm." Jo leaned back in her chair as the manicurist set Alex's hands back on the table and ordered her to stay still for ten minutes. "Alex . . . how are you feeling right now? Tired? Hurt-y?"

Alex blinked. "Uh . . . pretty much ok. Why?"

"You up for some shopping?"

"I guess. What do you need?"

Jo let out a long-suffering sigh. "Not for _me_, dingbat. For you!"

"But I don't need anything," Alex said, confused. "What would I even go shopping for?"

"Clothes! We need to find you a shirt to go with your wild new nails."

Alex looked down at her hands and then back up at Jo. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope."

"Jo, I've spent the past two weeks wearing Bobby's old flannel shirts. Believe me, what I'm wearing right now is racy compared to those."

"You're wearing a boring old blouse! That's no fun. We need to get you something low-cut."

Alex snorted. "Yeah, because everyone wants to see bruises all over a girl's chest when she wears a v-neck."

"I thought you only really had bruising over your ribs," Jo said. "At least, that's what everyone's been saying."

"Well, ok, most of it's on my ribs, yeah. But still," she went on, suddenly glad they were in a beauty parlor full of only women, "I can't wear a bra, and probably the scar on my chest will peek out from anything really low-cut."

"Oh, stop making excuses! Come on, your boobs are small enough that you can go bra-less, and trust me, the scar's not gonna show if it's like all the scars I've seen on punctured lung patients. So what if it does, anyway?"

Alex sighed. "You're seriously set on this, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

The manicurist working at the table next to them looked up from her client's hands and told Alex with a grin, "I agree with her, hon. You can't go wrong with something low-cut, even if you aren't totally perfect."

"Oh, for god's sake, fine!" Alex conceded, feeling a hint of excitement in spite of herself. "But not 'til after lunch, please? That'll give me time to regain some energy, plus there'll be time for our nails to dry before we start handling clothes we don't own."

* * *

"_Red_?" was the first thing Sean said as he sat down across from the two women in the restaurant they'd chosen for lunch. "_Both _of you?"

"What," Jo challenged teasingly, "we don't look like the femme fatale type? Check out the feet."

He obediently ducked his head under the table for a second. "On your toes too? Did you guys smoke anything funny this morning?"

"Sorry," Alex said with a smirk. "I'm off weed until I can give my dealer a doctor's note."

"Har, har." Sean paused, accepting a glass of water from the waiter, then looked back at his companions. "But ok, I'll admit it looks good on both of you. Good thing you got it done _after _the narcs met you, huh Alex?"

She shuddered. "Ugh. One ass-grabber was enough, I don't need to encourage any more."

Jo poked Alex in the shoulder and grinned. "Well, they may not be narcs, but after I'm done with you today, I promise, you'll have lots of guys willing to grab your ass."

"Oh, that's just what I need. I can't even handle the one I have!" she replied dryly.

"One of what?" Sean asked, trying to follow their jokes while studying the menu at the same time. "You have an ass-grabber?"

"No!" Alex kicked Jo under the table and gave her a warning glare. "She's kidding."

"I already ordered, Sean." Jo plucked the menu out of his hands and set it down. "You're getting a reuben. And I'm _not _kidding. Well, I may be _exaggerating _a little, but not kidding."

"He hasn't grabbed my ass! Ever!"

"Well, maybe you should get him to," Jo retorted, sticking out her tongue. "I hear it does wonders for -"

Alex slapped a hand over Jo's mouth. "Shut up!"

"Would one of you care to tell me who you're talking about?" Sean asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No," they said in unison.

He sighed. "Should have known. What did I expect from throwing you two together for a girls day, anyway?"

"You haven't seen the half of it," Jo told him, leaning forward as though she didn't want Alex to hear, but speaking in a normal voice. "Wait'll you hear what we're doing with our afternoon."

"Is it something you could get arrested for? Because seriously, if you get picked up by Vice, that's Alex's problem, not mine."

"Sean!" Alex picked up a piece of her bread as though she wanted to throw it, then checked herself and put it back down. "You're lucky we're in public, buddy. Trust me, I'm in no shape for streetwalking, and I don't think someone who's worried about her nails clashing with her scrubs would make a very good hooker, either."

"Which scrubs?" Sean asked Jo, choosing not to argue with his sister about her hooking talents.

"The teddy-bear ones."

He thought about that. "Yeah, but you have those ones with strawberries all over them . . . you could wear those."

"Yeah," Alex said with a snort, "or just make sure you handle the trauma patients and get nice and bloody."

"Oh, yeah, because holding someone's skin closed over their skull while blood pours out is my idea of fun."

Sean blinked. "You're _so_ lucky that you're dating a family of hardass cops, you know that, Jo? Any other two people would be either puking or looking at you like you have two heads after hearing that."

"Damn, I'm dating the whole family now? I'll have to free up more of my weekends . . ." she replied, eyes twinkling with humor.

"I feel the need to point out, having had first-hand experience," Alex said evenly, "that being the person having their head held closed isn't terribly amusing either."

Jo blinked. "Damn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

"It's ok. Besides," Alex said with a small smile, "I think Bobby was at least as traumatized as I was by it - if not more."

The waiter brought their lunches before either of the other two could respond to Alex's comment, and the next few minutes were occupied with the sounds of chewing and clicking silverware.

Finally, Sean put down his fork and looked at Alex. "He certainly _seems_ more traumatized by it than you do."

She sighed. "There are things about my reaction that you haven't seen. But I'll agree that he definitely _looks _worse off than I do. Plus he was conscious for more of it than I was."

"You know Mom's still worried about you, right?" Sean asked. "Rumor has it she practically brained Dad last night for asking questions about you to the wrong person or something and getting you mad."

Jo snorted. " 'Wrong person' . . . yeah, you could say that."

"Why, who was it?" he asked, looking from one woman to the other. "Did he hunt down Bobby or something?"

Alex groaned and shut her eyes against the memory. "Worse."

"Worse than having your father corner the guy he's asking about? Geez," he said, trying to think of what could top that.

"Don't you dare," Alex blurted a few seconds later, catching Jo just as she opened her mouth to tell Sean the story. "It's a long story, Sean. Too long for lunch."

"Hmm, it must be good."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Jo will tell you all about it as soon as you drop me off at home tonight."

Jo shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, probably. But I guess we do need to hurry if we're going to get to Macy's in midtown and then back."

"Macy's?" Sean echoed. "What are you going there for?"

"Uh, how about shopping?" Alex teased.

"Uh, how about 'for what?'" Sean shot back.

"Clothes, dumbass," Jo said, rolling her eyes. "We're buying clothes to go with our wild and crazy red nails."

"You're. . . you're matching your _clothes _to your . . . _fingernails_?"

Both women burst out laughing. "Ah, Sean," Alex finally managed, patting his shoulder sympathetically, "you have so much to learn about women."

"Yeah, guess I do," he said with a sigh. "But really . . . to your _nails_?"

"One of these days, you'll figure it out, hon," Jo told him, standing up. "Now, we've gotta go." She stepped around the side of the table to kiss him, then grinned. "You're paying, Sean. Come on, Alex."

Alex followed Jo toward the door, glancing over her shoulder at her brother and giving him a sympathetic-yet-amused shrug.

* * *

"No! Absolutely not!" Alex held up a hand to stop Jo from pushing the wheelchair any closer to her. "I am _not _going around in public in a wheelchair when I have a perfectly good set of legs."

"Ok, first of all," Jo shot back, "we're standing in the doorway of Macy's, not strolling the streets and greeting people we know. Second of all, you're going to get tired, even if you aren't now, and I'm _so _not carrying you out of here if you pass out on me. Third of all, let's face it: you_ are_ a cripple for the time being! Just think of it as . . . a break from walking. " she added, nudging Alex and grinning.

Alex shook her head. "No, Jo."

"Oh, for the love of god, just put your ass in the chair. We're not arguing about this. If it's such a huge issue, then you can walk next to it until you feel like you need it, but either way, it's coming with us."

Still scowling, Alex conceded defeat and dropped into the wheelchair. "I feel like I'm back in the hospital."

"Yeah, and you've got your own personal nurse and personal shopper, all in one. Now behave yourself while I get us in the elevator."

"Jo . . ." Alex said in a voice perilously close to a whine as she was wheeled into the metal car. "I hate this!"

"Stop complaining or I'm telling Bobby that you were trying to overdo it."

The threat had the intended effect and Alex subsided again, but kept glaring at Jo.

Jo noticed an elderly woman watching them curiously as the elevator rose toward the fifth floor. The woman's eyebrows climbed a little farther up on her forehead each time Alex let out a disgusted sigh or whined. "She's just really independent," Jo explained apologetically to the woman. "She refuses to acknowledge that she might possibly need help."

The woman's face split into a smile. "The stronger they are, the more they complain about being laid up, huh? My husband was the same way when he got shot - oh, but that was years ago," she added, noticing their looks of alarm. "My Dan was a policeman, but he's been retired for years."

"Your husband was a cop?" Alex repeated, suddenly a lot more interested in this grandmotherly woman. "Where?"

"Oh, they bounced him around to precincts all over Manhattan. My, how he used to complain every time he got reassigned!" She chuckled and shook her head. "He never quite understood that it was because he was so _good_."

Jo smiled warmly. "What's your name, ma'am? Alex, here," she said, pointing to her, "is a cop, from a family of cops. Maybe one of them knows your husband."

"My goodness, you're on the force?" the woman gasped, looking at Alex with new eyes. "I never would have thought it! You look so . . ."

"Fragile?" Alex supplied. "That's what everyone thinks. But nope, I really am a cop . . . although lately there have been moments where I regret it. Mostly the moments when I want to murder my partner. Oh, I'm sorry," she broke off, offering a hand to the woman. "I'm Alex Eames, and my friend is Jo Williams."

"Constance Griffith," the woman replied, shaking Alex's hand. "But you can call me Connie. Now let's see . . . Eames . . . Ah! Any relation to Frank Eames? I believe there was a patrolman Dan worked with by that name."

Alex grinned. "That's my uncle!"

"Oh, how wonderful! Dan will love to hear about him - how's he doing?"

"He's ok. He retired a few years ago and he and his wife moved to Florida. Said they were going to go down there and show all the old fogies how to live."

The elevator dinged and all three women paused and looked up. "What floor are you going to, girls?" Connie asked them.

"Five," Jo answered. "We're looking to buy something sexy for Alex."

"Jo!"

Connie chuckled. "Sexy, huh? What's the occasion?"

Alex watched the elevator doors open in front of them and sighed. "It's a long story. A _really _long story," she said as Jo pushed her out onto the floor.

"Hmm." Connie followed them out. "I wonder if you'd mind some company? I'm only here to do boredom shopping anyway, and quite frankly, you two are a lot more interesting than looking at purses I can't afford."

Alex and Jo looked at each other and shrugged. "Sure," Jo said. "How's your fashion sense? I have a feeling Alex is going to need some persuasion."

"Well, I don't know how much of a handle I have on 'sexy,'" Connie said thoughtfully, "but I do ok with choosing clothes in general. Tell you what - I'll help you guys find something nice if, in return, Alex tells me this intriguingly long story about whatever you're buying the outfit for."

The two younger woman exchanged another look, then looked back at Connie and grinned. "Deal," they said at the same time.


	35. Autopilot

A/N: My god, it's the chapter that refused to end! Every time I thought I had it to a resolution, one of them went and did something stupid and screwed it up again! Well, and it could also have something to do with my many failed attempts to inject smut, brought to an end only when I decided to be coy and cut it off. Sigh...

* * *

Alex sighed and tugged on the hem of the shirt she was wearing as she looked up at the front door of her building. "Do I have to?" 

"Yes!" Jo said forcefully from beside her. "You look gorgeous, Alex, and you need to stop acting like you don't know it!"

"Yeah, but without a bra, I look . . . this is . . ."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'revealing,' hon. And yes, it is. That's the fun. Bobby's going to forget how to even speak English when he sees you!"

Alex snorted. "He'll just switch to German, then."

"Alex, listen to me," Jo tried again. "You look hot. Even Connie agreed on that, and she's old. Now believe me when I say this: he is _not _prepared for what he's going to see come through the door in a minute. He's not expecting the red nails and he's sure as hell not expecting the red silk camisole cut down to there."

Alex unlocked the building door and held it open, but didn't go through it. "Jo -"

"_But_," Jo went on, talking over Alex's protests, "even if none of that gets to him quite enough to make him fall at your feet . . ." She gave Alex a gentle push through the doorway. "You have a secret weapon."

Alex blinked. "I do?"

"The thing zips up the back, Alex. Think about it." With that, Jo have her a quick hug and shoved her the rest of the way through the door. "I'm going to expect an update tomorrow!" she called through the glass as she headed back to her car.

Alex sighed as she trudged toward the elevator. "Well, even if it's a flop with Bobby," she decided as she pressed the button for her floor, "at least I can wear it as pajamas."

* * *

She unlocked the apartment door slowly, still hoping in the back of her mind that some sort of rescue would come to her at the last minute, but still found herself inside a few seconds later, awkwardly toeing off her shoes without bending over. 

"Alex?" Bobby called tentatively from the kitchen. He wasn't sure if she was still angry at him, and, even worse, if she was, he hadn't come up with any magic words to make things better.

"Yeah," she said, still in the entryway, as she shrugged off her jacket. "Hi."

"Hi." He put down the book he'd been reading and stood up, impatient to see her face so he could know if he was in trouble. "I didn't know what you wanted for dinner, so I didn't start anyth . . ." He stopped and stared at her. "I thought you were getting your nails done," he finally managed a few seconds later.

"We did," she said simply, sticking out one hand and one foot to show him. So far, his reaction was definitely _not_ encouraging her. She'd been hoping for something more along the lines of _Wow_, or _You look beautiful_, or even just a wordless stare - anything but a protestation about how she'd misled him about how she would spend the day.

"But you're . . . um, I mean . . ."

"I'm tired, Bobby," she said flatly, pushing past him into the kitchen. "Don't make me spend the night deciphering Goren-talk." Leaning forward against the counter, she cautiously raised her arms to rummage through the cabinet above her head. She knew she had some cookies in there somewhere . . . she just wasn't sure where.

"What are you looking for?" he asked from just above her head as he leaned over her.

Alex started at his unexpected closeness. "The, uh . . . Oreos," she told him quietly as she tried to back out from under his arm.

One of his arms shot out and wrapped around her hips, preventing her escape. "Here." He pulled the bag of cookies down from the cabinet and dropped it on the counter. Then, reeling her in with the hand he had on her, he looked at her again, this time with more intensity. "I didn't know you were going to go shopping." _Damn it, Bobby, is that all you can say? Get your eyes above her neckline, you lecher!_

"Sorry. Next time I'll be sure to give you a detailed itinerary." She tried to pull away, but failed. "Let go."

He did, but only to switch his grip to her hand instead of her hip. "I'm sorry. I . . . you look . . . amazing. I just wasn't expecting . . ." He shook his head dazedly and ran his free hand up her arm, stroking the expanse of bare skin there.

Alex felt a large chunk of the block of ice that had formed inside her since their fight in the morning break off and begin to melt. "Does that mean you like it?"

He looked at her warily. "Am I allowed to like it?"

She moved a step closer to him, so that she could feel the warmth coming from his body, resting their joined hands on the counter next to them. "Yes, you're allowed. You're allowed to comment on it, too."

He looked down at her and immediately regretted it. The view was dangerous enough when he was looking at her head-on; the view looking straight down was almost enough to bring him to his knees. "Uh, what?" he asked, realizing she'd said something while he'd been busy staring.

"I guess that's my answer," she said with a small smile. "I'm glad you like it. I'm not sure why I let Jo and Connie talk me into buying it." _Liar! You know exactly why you bought it! And it's working, too! "_It's not like I could ever wear it to work."

"Uh, yeah." She really did look more relaxed, he thought with a sigh of relief. Relaxed and pampered and . . . covered in the shade of red that had always looked so good on her. He stifled a groan.

"Something wrong, Bobby?" she asked, looking up at him innocently.

He swallowed. "Why . . . uh, I mean, isn't it . . . uh . . ." He forced himself to a stop before he became a complete babbling idiot.

Alex continued to look up at him with a mildly curious look on her face. "You want to try that again?"

He shook his head silently and glanced at his hand where it held hers, then back at her face. Well, almost her face. He cleared his throat. "Do you want to tell me about what you did today, and I'll tell you how work was?"

Alex blinked. "Ok, that was an interesting subject change." She shifted a little closer to him, until her body was just barely touching his. "You don't want to talk about my shirt anymore?"

Bobby coughed and tried to stand as still as possible.

"Is that a no?" she asked, pulling her hand out of his and moving it up to his cheek.

"A . . . huh?" he said a second too late. "A no to what?"

She had him hooked now. Alex allowed herself a tiny smirk, then cleared it off her face and used her hand to lift his chin up until she could meet his eyes. "I'm up here, Bobby."

A flush spread across his face. "I . . . uh, sorry. It's . . ." For the second time in five minutes, he had to stop speaking before he embarrassed himself.

Alex bent her neck down until her chin was almost touching her chest and said thoughtfully, "They do look pretty good from this angle, don't they?"

He made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and the pained groan of someone who'd just had the wind knocked out of them. "Alex . . ."

"Hmm?" she responded, raising her head to look at him.

"You don't . . ."

"I don't what?" she prompted softly, leaning into his chest and making him support some of her weight.

He sighed and forced some measure of control back into his voice. "Are you _trying _to make me incoherent, or is it just a side effect of whatever you _are _trying to do?"

She pondered that for a second. "Side effect. And a pleasant one, I must say. But I guess only for me . . . You don't seem to be having too much fun."

" 'Fun' is definitely not the word I'd use to describe it."

Alex sighed and took a step away from him. "And I thought we were going along so well for a while there."

A bolt of alarm went through him when he realized she was walking away. "Wait!" he blurted, grabbing her hand again.

"What, Bobby?" She didn't fight his hold on her, but she didn't move any closer to him, either.

"Look, I'm sorry about last night, and -" He stopped when he realized she had turned her back on him. "Alex?"

She rubbed her face with one hand, not looking at him. "Regrets are really not what I want to hear right now, sorry. Especially for things you started in the first place. This was a dumb idea, anyway."

He wasn't sure what to say first in response to that. "Ok, wait. Hold on," he said, pushing off the counter and walking over until he could stand in front of her again. "I'm not talking about . . . _that _part of last night. I'm talking about how it ended. I . . . just wasn't thinking when I brought that stuff up."

She snorted. "More like you weren't thinking with the right part of your body for a guy with a woman on his lap."

He tried not to turn any redder at that. "You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right. What's your point?"

"I'm trying to apologize, if you'd just stay still and stop interrupting me," he snapped impatiently.

Alex looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "Is that what you're doing? Because I thought maybe you were trying to commit suicide by cop. With me as the cop."

That forced a laugh out of him. "I would hope that you've got your gun in a lockbox."

"Yeah, but I also have the key, Goren," she retorted, feeling the anger start to drain out of her as they reverted to the joking manner she was so used to. "So watch your step around the woman in red."

His eyes flicked to her body again. "Uh, yeah . . . you're definitely wearing plenty of red."

She sighed and plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs. "Jo wanted me to get something 'sexy' to go with my nails."

"Why?" He pulled out another chair and straddled it so he was sitting in front of her.

"Why what? Why did she think I should get something sexy, you mean?"

"Among other things."

Alex sighed. "It's kind of a long, weird story. You sure you want to hear it?"

"I'm sure. But the kitchen probably isn't the best place for a long, weird conversation, now that I think about it."

"Oh?" She leaned back in her chair. "Where would you prefer to do it?"

"Bed?"

She stared at him, shocked. "_Excuse _me?"

Bobby sighed. "I mean because you're tired and it's a comfortable place to sack out for a long conversation. Not . . . whatever you're thinking."

"Pity," she remarked quietly as she stood up.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything." She tried to look innocent, but she was pretty sure it didn't work when he nearly jumped off his chair in his rush to block her way out of the kitchen.

"You said 'pity.'"

"If you already knew, why'd you ask?"

He groaned. "You think it's fun to drive me nuts, don't you?"

She gave him a sugary smile. "Well, what are you going to do, handcuff me to the bed? Sorry, but we already had that fight. As long as you're living here, you have to put up with being driven nuts."

To her alarm, instead of coming back with a snappy retort, he only looked at her contemplatively. "Can you raise your arms above your head yet?"

"Sort o- hey, wait! Exactly why do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "Oh, just wondering. Since you were trying on clothes and all today, it seemed like a logical question."

She took a step backward into the living room, looking at him suspiciously. "Is that really why?"

He followed her movement, making sure that he wasn't going to back her into anything that resembled a wall. "Of course that's why. You ought to trust your partner more, Eames."

She backed up another step and snorted. "I trust him just fine . . . except when he's got that sly look on his face like he does now."

"Sly, huh?" He continued to stalk her across the room, doing his best to herd her toward the bedroom.

"Yeah, sly." She glanced over her shoulder into the dark bedroom, then flipped on the lights and looked back at him. "So help me, Goren, if you try to cuff me to the bed, I'm going to kill you. Slowly and painfully."

"Do I look like someone who'd cuff an injured woman to her bed?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, sidestepping as she reached the bed. "I'm serious, Bobby. Don't do it."

"Not going to." He followed her in another step, silently plotting his strategy, before he his left hand shot out with surprising speed and captured first one of her wrists, then the other.

Alex let out an indignant yelp and tried to tear her arms out of his grasp. "You promised!"

He calmly moved behind her and transferred her right wrist into his right hand so that he was wrapped around her back, almost enveloping her in a bear hug. "Do you see any cuffs in my hands?"

"You _are _the cuffs!"

"That," he pointed out, lowering his head to kiss her exposed neck, "was not part of your ban. And you should notice that you're not on the bed, either."

She pulled halfheartedly against him, managing to get as far as, "This isn't fair . . ." before his mouth and the stubble that surrounded it began to move up her neck and drove whatever she'd been saying out of her mind.

"Mmm." He kissed her jaw. "Who said anything about playing fair?"

Alex decided to accept her fate. It wasn't like being enveloped in a Bobby-hug was a terrible ordeal, anyway. "You're right. So tell me . . . was it the nails or the shirt that did it?" she asked as she relaxed against him.

"Huh?" He was way too distracted by the view to comprehend anything resembling a question.

"Hmm. Judging by where you're staring, I'll assume it's the shirt."

"What?"

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her wrists out of his now-loosened grip and turned around. "You see, Goren," she informed him in a schoolmarm voice, poking him in the chest with one finger, "_this _is what happens when you let your sexual frustration build up for way too long."

He twisted his neck, trying to regain the view he'd had, but couldn't. "I . . . what?"

She snorted. "I'll have to remember this for the next time I want to get you to shut up. Note to self: wear low-cut sh-"

Her teasing was interrupted by the ringing of a phone and they both groaned. "Not _now_!" Alex exhorted the unseen source of the noise.

Bobby managed something that resembled a grunt and took a step back from her. "It's mine."

"Well, go answer the damn thing and get rid of whoever's on the other end!"

He blinked. "Uh . . . ok." With Alex right behind him, he started tracking the ring to its source, which turned out to be a table next to the couch. Keeping one eye on her at all times, he sat down and opened the phone. "Hello?"

Alex raised her eyebrows and mouthed _Hello? _at him. He never answered his phone with a "hello," so he had to be even more distracted than he was letting on. When he just scowled at her and tried to wave her away, she pointedly ignored it and dropped onto the couch next to him. "Who is it?"

He ignored her, his attention suddenly focused on the phone. "Uh, yeah. Why?" he asked the caller.

Hmph. She couldn't let his attention be drawn away _that_ easily, and unless it was Deakins on the other end of the phone, which she could tell it wasn't, she didn't care what the other person thought was going on on Bobby's end. She pivoted from her position next to him into a much more interesting one, straddling him.

Bobby jerked in surprise, narrowly missing knocking her in the head with the phone. Moving his eyes back to her, he gave her a dirty look and gestured for her to get off of him. A second later, he was staring at the phone again. "Today? Are you sure it was . . . well yeah, that sounds right. She . . ."

Alex's ears pricked up at the word _she_. Either he was talking about her, or there was a secret girlfriend she needed to take out a hit on . . . but her money was on the first. "Who is it?" she asked again. A second later, she matched his scowl and added, "If that's one of my brothers, Bobby, so help me, I'm going to _throttle _you with this shirt instead of let you look down it."

He shook his head at her. "Murray, wait . . . no, hold on." He put his hand over the phone and stared hard at her. "You went to Narcotics today?"

Alex blinked, not making the connection for a second before she realized that the "Murray" he was talking to had to be the one she'd met this morning. "Uh, yeah. Sean needed to finish some paperwork. No big deal," she said lightly.

He just shook his head slightly and uncovered the phone. "Give me that again, Murray?" He kept his gaze on Alex as he listened, eyes narrowing at whatever the caller was saying. "Who told you that?" he demanded of the man.

"Bobby . . ." Alex attempted, reaching for the phone with a half-baked plan of hanging up before the guy could deliver any more news from the narcs.

He snatched her hand out of the air and held it against the back of the couch, directing another glare at her. "Ok, man. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, bye." He flipped the phone closed and tossed it on the table without taking his eyes off her. "Would you like to tell me about your little visit this morning?"

_Men don't gossip_, she assured herself. _He probably just called to tell Bobby he wants my number or something_. "Uh, nothing really to tell. Like I said, Sean needed to finish some work, so he brought me . . . what?" she broke off, realizing that his face was only getting darker.

"Who'd you meet?" he asked with false lightness.

"Um, a few people . . . uh, a guy named Murray . . . and um, Nolan Masterson . . ."

His eyebrows lifted a little higher on his forehead, but that his was only reaction to her weak statement. "That's it?"

"Pretty much." She scowled. "Don't think I don't know that you're fishing for something! You want to tell me what?"

"Sure," he said shortly. "The name 'Ray Silva' ring a bell?"

"No," she said a little too quickly. "Who's he?"

"You're a bad liar when it comes to me, Alex. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened!"

"Really? Then maybe you want to tell me why word among the guys is that Silva 'got a piece of' Sean Eames's sister?"

She stared at him, open-mouthed. "_What?"_

"You heard me." He released her hand, moving his hands to her hips to hold her still as she started to struggle for freedom. "Tell me what happened."

"He . . ." She shuddered in disgust. "That scumbag!"

His hands tightened slightly on her. "Does that mean it's true?"

Worried by his cold tone, she looked down at him. "What, exactly, are you thinking happened? You're looking kind of scary right now." When he just continued to look at her, she sighed. "He tried to grab my ass. He didn't even manage to actually do it. It's not a big thing, Bobby."

He drew in a slow breath. "That's it? He didn't touch you?"

"No. Now, would you please let me go? I want to go get on my pajamas - this call kind of spoiled the mood."

He released her hips, but stood up and followed her toward the bedroom. "Were you going to tell me about this, or were you just hoping no one would mention it to me?"

She started to pull off her top, then stopped, realizing she couldn't, and groaned through clenched teeth, "You need to unzip me."

"Pardon?" he said blankly, without moving from his position in the doorway.

"The shirt, Bobby. It zips, and I can't reach it."

He started to walk toward her, then paused. "Is this a trick?"

"No, it's not a goddamn trick! I just want to get the damn shirt off, is that too much to ask?"

"Sorry." He walked the rest of the way into the room. "Were you going to tell me?" he asked again as he felt along the back of her top for the zipper.

"Not a chance in hell. I knew you'd freak out. It's here," she said, twisting an arm around to try to point toward the zipper.

"Thanks." He started to pull on it, then stopped. "I'm not freaking out."

"Zip while you talk, Bobby. And you're right, I'm surprised you haven't gone charging out of the apartment to hunt him down. But you're not exactly happy right now, either."

He grunted noncommittally as he slid the zipper the rest of the way down. "I'm still considering the charging thi . . ." He stopped and stared at her bare back, realizing a second later that the top had slipped down her arms once the zipper was undone.

Alex held the shirt up with one hand while she turned to look at him. "Go on, shoo before I spoil your virgin eyes."

"My what?"

"You've got three seconds, Goren, and then I'm changing whether you're in here or not." She waited for him to move, or at least do _something_. When he didn't, she let out a loud sigh. "Fine. Don't come bitching to me later," she snapped as she dropped the shirt and turned to look for her pajama top.

"Alex?"

"What?" she mumbled as she dug through a drawer, searching for her favorite flannel top.

"You, uh, said the mood was ruined."

She snorted. "You could say that. Where is this damn . . . Bobby, have you seen my long-sleeved flannel top? The blue one?"

"Uh, I don't think so. It hasn't been in any of the laundry I've folded," he responded automatically. Then, after a pause to get himself back on the topic he wanted to be on, he added, "Is it fixable?"

"What? The top? I can't fix it if I can't find it, genius."

"Not the top. The mood."

"The . . . huh?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, covering her breasts, and turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"The mood," he repeated. "Can we get it back?"

She blinked. "You're actually asking me this?"

"Uh, yeah. Shouldn't I be?"

"I'm just surprised you'd want it back at all," she said. "Since we were going down the path to hell, or whatever you think sleeping with me would be."

He moved a step closer to her. "Give me a break, Alex. It's not my fault the guy called at the wrong time."

She retreated a step, more to annoy him than out of any kind of apprehension. "I didn't say it was your fault. I just said it spoiled things."

The movement didn't go unnoticed. "Am I scaring you?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

"No."

"Then why are you backing up?"

"Because I feel like it," she shot back. "Why are you following me?"

"Because I feel like it." He was purposely goading her now, he acknowledged to himself. Maybe if he irritated her enough, she'd start talking with her hands . . . "So, what are you going to do when I corner you, Alex?"

She backed up again. "You mean besides have a panic attack?"

"Yes, besides that." The were approaching the edge of the bed now; if he forced her back another step, she'd trip over it and end up on her back on the mattress. That probably wouldn't be good for her ribs, he decided with a quiet sigh. "Look where you're going before you back up any more."

"Huh?" She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, now you're playing fair again?" And there it was: one hand came off her chest to wave her exasperation in the air. "Do you want to consider informing me next time you make one of these rule changes?" The hand pointed back to herself.

Bobby watched the hand intently, hoping she didn't remember where it had been before she started ranting. "What rule changes?"

"The rule changes where -" She started to lift her other hand to gesture at him even more vehemently, then stopped short with the hand only a few inches away from her chest as she caught him watching her a little too closely. "Bobby Goren, are you trying to get me to _expose_ myself?" she asked, clamping her hands back down where they had been.

"Uh . . . yeah."

She blinked. "Oh. Well, at least you're honest, I guess. You could have just asked, though."

"You didn't seem like you'd be too amenable to it," he said with a cautious shrug. "What with the yelling at me about Murray's phone call and the looking for your pajamas." He paused, looking at her suspiciously. "Does that mean that if I ask, you will?"

"Well, it would kind of depend on how well you present the request," she told him with a smirk. "I do have standards."

With one large step, he closed the gap between them, putting a hand behind her back to keep her from backing up and falling onto the bed. He slid his other arm around her hips, resting his hand in the small of her back. "I would very much like," he began, in a voice that would have sounded formal if it hadn't been quite so intense, "for you to put your arms down, Detective Eames."

"Ooh, 'Detective' now, huh?" she teased. "Good start. For that, you get one arm." As promised, she moved her right hand away from her chest and transferred it to his waist. "But really, is it fair for me to be standing here half-naked and you to be fully clothed? I don't think so," she added, starting to tug the side of his shirt out of his pants.

Bobby thought for a second about what he could say to get her to drop the other arm without protest. "If you drop your other arm, I'll promise to stay away from Ray Silva - _if, _that is, he stays away from you."

"You swear?" she asked warily. "No loopholes?"

"None other than the one I just mentioned."

"Really?" Somehow she still found herself skeptical of that promise.

"Yes, really. Now are you going to do it, or do I have to start trying to think of some other strategy?"

"Oh, you're a real silver-tongued devil, Goren. Be still, my heart." Then, without giving him time to respond to her sarcasm, she dropped her other arm and put it around his waist. "There, happy?"

He looked down and swallowed hard, hardly even noticing when she started working on the buttons of his shirt. "Yes."

"Bobby?" she said a few seconds later.

"What?"

"Do you think we could sit down somewhere while you stare? I can't reach your face from down here."

He dragged his eyes back up to her face and blinked slowly as he processed her question. "Sit?"

She sighed. "If this is how you act when I let you touch me, I'm totally going to rent myself out to Carver for the next time he wants to make you stop arguing with him."

That got his attention. "_What_?"

She grinned and, holding onto his shirt for balance, lowered herself onto the bed. "Sit, Bobby."

He sat, allowing her to divest him of his shirt in the process, and cupped her cheek with one hand. "You're . . . beautiful."

She turned her head to kiss his palm, then grinned up at him. "You're not so bad yourself. C'mere," she added, motioning for him to lean toward her.

He obeyed with alacrity, and three seconds later found himself on his back with her kneeling beside him. "What the . . ."

Her hand roamed up his chest as she rested on one elbow and bent to kiss his lips. "You got a complaint about this?" she mumbled against his mouth.

He shook his head dumbly and captured her face in his hands, holding her down to him as he deepened the kiss. "Alex . . ."

She closed her eyes and let herself be absorbed in the sensation of his lips against hers. The fact that the muscles of the arm she was supporting herself with were shaking didn't penetrate her brain until a second too late, and instead of leaning over him, she now found herself sprawled beside him. "Oops," she muttered absently.

"You ok?" he managed to ask without taking his lips from hers, one of his hands roaming up her side as though feeling for injuries. When he found none, the hand retraced its path in reverse, this time just to feel her soft skin.

"Fine," she breathed.

"You sure?" he persisted, this time pulling back an inch so he could see her face.

She opened one eye and gave him a bored look. "I'm fine, Bobby. It's a soft bed." Returning her hands to his body, she closed her eyes again and trailed one finger down to the top of his pants, hiding a smile when he shuddered under her hand.

He groaned when her hand brushed against him as she started to work on his belt, and before she could react, she found their positions reversed, with her on her back and him kneeling over her. "Alex," he whispered into her hair. "Don't want to . . . can't . . . hurt you . . ."

She kept her hands where they were and continued to focus on her task. "I'll tell you if you do," she replied softly, arching her back slightly as his hands stroked oh-so-lightly over her ribs. "But you won't."

"How do you . . ."

"Because you're you," she answered before he could even finish the question. "And lately there's a part of your brain that's on 'Don't hurt Alex' autopilot."

He paused to look at her face. "A part of my brain that's what?"

"Don't believe me?"

He blinked. "I'm not sure I even understand what you just said."

She shrugged carelessly and, without warning, knocked his hands, which had been supporting him over her, out from under him.

He landed with his elbows on either side of her head, his upper body arched back to avoid crushing hers under him. "What the hell did you do that for?" he blurted, trying to slow his pulse back to something resembling normal.

She smiled and wiggled her hands where they were trapped between them, tickling his lower abdomen. "I told you. Autopilot."

"Jesus Christ. You didn't have to give me a heart attack to prove it!"

She hid a smile and lifted her head slightly to kiss him. "Sorry."

"Don't do that again," he said against her mouth. "Please."

"Then stop worrying so much and just let yourself enjoy." His belt finally gave way under her hands and she slid her mouth down to his neck and smiled against his skin when she felt his body begin to shake. "Enjoy, Bobby."


	36. Bee stings and panic attacks

A/N: Whee! I'm officially on winter break! Let's all cross our fingers and hope that means more ficcing!

* * *

"Don't even think about it." Her words, spoken half into the pillow, stopped him in his tracks the next morning as he tried to sneak out of bed without waking her.

He paused, one foot on the ground, and turned to look at the back of her head. "Think about what?"

"I let you get rid of me yesterday. Don't even _try _to tell me I'm not going to work with you today," she told him, still not moving her face out of the pillow.

He edged his other foot toward the floor. "I'm just going to the bathroom . . ."

"It's past seven. You're not just going to the bathroom." She finally rolled over to look at him. "Come on, don't piss me off this early in the morning."

He sighed. She had a point; he really didn't want to piss her off this early. Or at any other time of the day, actually. Especially when she was naked in bed and he could theoretically waste another ten minutes before heading for the shower.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Aren't you cold?"

"Huh?"

She reached out a hand to touch his bare back. "How can you not be freezing after getting out of this nice warm bed and just sitting there in the cold air?"

He thought about that. "I'm used to it, I guess."

"What, you make a habit of sitting on the edge of the bed every morning? You haven't since you've been sleeping with me." She sighed. "I'm going to freeze my ass off on the way to the bathroom."

"Sorry."

She snorted. "That was your cue to offer to keep me warm on the way."

His eyebrows crept up. "On the way to the bathroom?" he said thoughtfully. "Hmm. Uh, Alex?"

"What?"

"You think there's room for two of us in the shower?"

She stared at him for a second, then grinned. "You do know how to give a girl a pleasant wake-up call, once you put your mind to it. Tell you what . . . if you'll wash my hair, then we can share the shower."

He reminded himself that it was way too early, both in the morning and in the relationship, to get up and do a victory dance.

"Bobby?" she said curiously, watching his eyes glaze over. "Shower? You and me? Remember?"

He nodded. "You . . . uh, you feel ok?"

"Which part of me are you asking about?" she replied with a smirk.

He flushed slightly. "Well you, uh, you said you'd tell me if I hurt you, but . . ."

"I'm fine, really." She pushed she covers back and made a show of shivering in the cold air. "Besides," she told him, unable to keep herself from wincing slightly as she stood up, "if anyone notices me walking funny, they'll just chalk it up to the ribs."

"Alex!"

"I'm fine," she repeated, rounding the end of the bed and giving his hand a yank to make him stand up. "Now come on, I'm cold."

* * *

They almost made it through the day without incident. Then, around three in the afternoon, Alex went to refill their coffee mugs. Nothing more than that - her eyes were starting to cross from staring at paperwork for so long, and she headed for the coffee pot more on autopilot than not - but it was enough.

She was standing in the break room, pouring French roast into her mug, when an abrupt "Eames!" from the doorway made her jump in surprise.

"Shit!" she hissed as coffee slopped out of the mug onto her hand and the counter under it. "What the . . .?"

"Sorry," Deakins said, taking another step into the room. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She grabbed a paper towel and started mopping up the coffee she'd spilled on the counter. "It's ok. What's up?"

"I need an update on your recovery. An official one. As in, not from you or your partner."

"Mmm." She gave her hand a shake and looked down at where a small burn was turning red. "I have an appointment -"

"Let me see that," he interrupted, moving toward her and reaching out with the intention of taking her hand to check the injury.

Alex eased away as subtly as she could and moved her hand out of his reach. "It's fine. Coffee's hardly hot anyway."

Deakins snorted. "Yeah, because I really trust your judgments about your physical condition lately. Aren't you the woman who fell asleep in here two days ago after claiming she was perfectly fine?" He kept his hand out and gave her a stern look as he approached her. "Hand, Eames."

She had her back almost against the wall now. Where the hell was Bobby when she needed a distraction? "Captain," she managed in a voice that was slightly shaky but otherwise sounded calm, "please stop."

"You know, I've been cutting you a lot of slack lately," he retorted, stepping forward and snatching her hand before she could pull it back, "but I'm still your boss, and I need . . . Eames?" he broke off in alarm when she pulled her arm back so fast that her elbow slammed into the wall behind her. "What the hell?"

She tried to cup her injured elbow with her other hand, but her fingers were shaking too badly. "Please . . . back . . . up."

Having been given no reason to think anything else, Deakins assumed she was just trying to get him off her back in a very pointed manner. "Just show me your hand and I will. What the hell's wrong with you today?"

"I . . ." She closed her eyes and tried to press herself farther into the corner between the counter and the wall. "Please don't . . ."

"Alex?"

Deakins turned to face the man who'd just appeared in the doorway. "Goren, what the hell's going on with -" He broke off as Goren pushed brusquely past him. "Would someone like to tell me what's going on here, _please_?"

Taking in the situation at a glance, Bobby ignored him and very deliberately crouched in front of his partner so that he wouldn't scare her when she opened her eyes. "Alex," he said quietly, taking one of her hands. "He's backing off." He looked over his shoulder to make sure that Deakins was taking the hint and was pleased to find that his boss seemed to have finally realized he was scaring her; the older man had retreated to the the doorway, where he was leaning one shoulder against the frame and watching the action in front of him with bewilderment.

"Goren!" Deakins hissed. "What's wrong with her?"

"Leave," Goren ordered, too focused on Alex to worry about manners. "I'll explain it to you later."

Taking one more look at the scene in front of him, Deakins sighed. "Calm her down, and then come talk to me."

Bobby waited until he could hear Deakins's footsteps retreating behind him, then squeezed her hand, "I'm going to stand up, ok?"

She nodded slightly and pressed her lips together more tightly.

"You ready to move away from the wall?" he asked, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Alex took a deep breath, then let it out. "Jesus, this was bad enough when it only happened with you." Trying to ignore her pounding heart, she took a tentative step away from the support of the wall.

One of his arms went around her shoulders, supporting the weight she was too unsteady to bear, as he moved behind her, between her and the wall. "Open your eyes for me, Alex. No one's blocking the way out now."

She did as he asked, verifying that her escape route was no longer blocked, then abruptly turned and threw herself against him.

He reflexively put his arms around her, hands spread across her back as though he was shielding her. "It's ok," he murmured quietly, not sure what else to say. "You're safe."

Pressing her face into his shoulder, she shook her head. "He didn't understand . . . he wouldn't back up. I can't do this."

"You can't do what?"

"I can't . . . how can I go back on the street if I'm still scared of my partner and my captain, let alone anyone else?"

He swallowed a curse. "You're not scared of us, Alex. You're scared of being cornered, and that's more than understandable."

She pounded his shoulder with her fist, making him wince. "That doesn't matter! It doesn't matter _why_; what matters is that I can't fucking face anyone down without turning into this . . . cowering weak thing!"

"It's only been a few weeks. You can't try to force yourself to heal, especially mentally. Besides," he added, cradling the back of her head in his hand and lowering his voice to a comforting whisper, "we're dealing with it. You _are_ getting better, even if it's more slowly than you want."

"You don't understand," she mumbled into his shirt, "what it's like to be scared . . . to be scared of being _scared _all the time!"

"Then explain it to me." He could still feel her trembling, and he struggled not to let his own anger show as he spoke. She'd think it was for her, and it wasn't. Not by far. It was for Deakins, for being an idiot, but even more, it was for Steven Brewer, the son of a bitch who'd reduced the unshakeable Alex Eames to this frightened waif clinging to him as though he were a lifeline. "Do you think you'll be ok long enough for me to go tell Deakins what's going on? And then I'll take you home."

He was almost hoping she'd snap at him, tell him that he should know that she was perfectly fine and that she refused to go home in the middle of the day, but all she did was nod against his shoulder.

"Do you want to stay in here?" he asked, drawing back from her a little so he could see her face. "Or do you want to go back to your desk?" Jesus, he hated having to talk to her so gently, as though she were a victim. "Alex?"

"Desk," she said, copying his movement and taking a step back. "Let me walk by myself, please."

What did she think he was going to do, sweep her into his arms and carry her across the squad room just for the hell of it? A flippant reply was on his lips when he looked down and realized that she was still shaking. He bit back the sarcastic words and instead just nodded. "Ok. I'm going to stay next to you though."

She nodded. "Just . . . not unless I need you."

"I know, Alex." And he did. He knew that she wasn't asking him not to stay with her; she was just asking him not to offer any assistance unless she truly needed it to stay on her feet. She didn't want anyone to see her accepting help and think she was weak, and he hated that prideful reluctance almost as much as he hated seeing her fear.

"I hate this," she said quietly as she pulled completely away from him.

"I know," he said again, and followed her out of the room, trying to stay close without appearing to be hovering. Her hands were still shaking as they walked, and that alarmed him; she hadn't had the panic linger this long since the first time he'd scared her almost two weeks ago.

They were only partway to their desks when Hutchinson looked up from his desk, saw them coming, and moved toward them, obviously concerned by what he saw on her face. "Eames? Are you ok?"

Almost automatically, Bobby put himself between Alex and the young detective. "She's fine." Then, realizing that he'd practically growled at the guy, who was just trying to make sure Alex was ok, he softened his tone and added, "Really, she's ok. Just tired."

"Bobby." Her hand on his arm was still unsteady as she moved partially out from behind him, keeping one of his shoulders between her and the other man, but she didn't think the fine tremors were visible to anyone not looking for them. "I'm ok, Tim. Just tired, like Goren said."

"Oh." Hutchinson looked undecided for a second, shifting his weight from side to side, then gulped and blurted quickly, "If you need anything, just ask me, ok?"

His sincerity and his nervousness were both palpable, and instead of refusing the offer as she would have with anyone else, she just nodded and said, "I will."

"Ok." Hutchinson smiled, relieved. "Ok, good. I've gotta, um . . ." He looked over his shoulder to where his partner, Miller, was watching him with raised eyebrows. "I gotta go."

They watched him retreat to his desk, scowling at Miller. Alex sighed and Bobby looked down at her with a slight smile. "I think he has a crush on you."

"Hmm," she said disinterestedly as they started for their desks again. "I think he's even younger than Sean."

"That mean you're not interested?" Although he was trying to keep his voice light, and he truly didn't believe the younger man was any kind of competition, something must have come through in his voice, because she looked up at him with a tiny smirk.

"Why, are you worried?" she teased as, to the surprise of them both, she allowed him to pull out her desk chair for her.

At that moment, he could have kissed Hutchinson, no matter what threat he posed, because hallelujah, there was a smile on her face again. "Not unless you tell me to be," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to Deakins."

She nodded slightly. "Don't -"

"I know."

* * *

Goren tapped lightly on the door of Deakins's office, peering through the glass wall to try to gauge his boss's reaction. When Deakins waved him in without looking up, he sighed and twisted the knob.

"Shut the door," Deakins ordered before Bobby could get a word out.

He did as ordered. "Sir, what happened in there . . ."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Pardon?" He looked at Deakins, surprised at the thoughtless phrasing of the question. "There's nothing 'wrong' with her."

"Goren, she just freaked out because I tried to look at her hand. There's obviously _something _wrong with her."

"I told you about this the day she came home from the hospital, sir. She . . . panics . . . when she gets cornered. I'm sure you can figure out how she acquired that particular fear."

"She 'panics'? Jesus Christ, Bobby, she was three seconds from collapsing. You gave me the impression that she was ok to come back when you brought her in on Monday!"

"She is. She was. Other than in that one circumstance, she's back to normal, at least mentally."

Deakins sighed. "Yeah, well, it's a pretty big 'circumstance,' for a cop. I can't put her back on active duty until I know she won't have a panic attack if some criminal makes a run for her." He rubbed his forehead, where the beginnings of a headache were taking root. "Jesus," he said again. "We need her! She's probably taken down more bad guys than you have, and with more finesse."

"She doesn't plan on leaving," Bobby said as calmly as he could, although he knew that every word Deakins was saying was perfectly true and the other man was, in fact, echoing some of his own fears. "It's only been a matter of weeks; she had a serious trauma. She's still recovering physically, so why would we expect her to be a hundred percent mentally?"

The captain, no fool, gave Goren a hard look. "That's nice, but it doesn't reassure me that this is going to get fixed. Has she gotten counseling? I know I told her to, but somehow I suspect . . ."

"Uh, not yet, sir. She's mostly been . . . you know, surrounding herself with the familiar, with people and things she trusts. And it _has _been helping."

"Counseling, Bobby. Professional. I'm not insulting your skills when it comes to psychology," he added, holding up a hand to preempt Bobby's protest, "but you're too close. How often does she have these . . . attacks?"

"Not often," he said quickly. "It's only happened a few times, and up until today, it was only with me."  
"Why, do you make a habit of cornering her?" Deakins said without thinking. "No, wait," he added a second later. "I probably don't want to know."

Goren fought the urge to snap at the other man. "It just . . . happens in the course of daily life, sometimes. Pay attention when you're home and you'll probably notice that you do it to people without realizing it."

"Ok, I'll concede on that point, but that's not really the issue anyway. She _needs _to get counseling, Bobby. And you know she's not going to want to do it."

"Well, I -"

"That's why I'm putting you in charge of making sure she does get it - come hell or high water."

"Sir, you know how she can be. I don't think . . ."

"Did you hear what I said a minute ago, Goren? I _can't _put her back on the street until this is resolved, and when your cast comes off, you're going back out, with or without her. So I suggest you lean on her, hard, if you don't want to find yourself stuck with a new partner."

Bobby stared at him, speechless. Deakins was playing hardball, and they both knew it. Unfortunately, the captain also happened to have a point with this particular pitch. "I'll do my best," he said tightly, resentful of being called on the carpet, of being made to discuss Eames without her knowledge, of the threat of a new partner that Deakins knew would be so effective against him.

"Good. I want you to keep me informed, Bobby." Rubbing his temples, Deakins gave him a tired look. "Is she ok? Now, I mean?"

"She will be. I'm going to take her home when we finish here."

He nodded. "Yeah, do that. Tell her I apologize, too. Do I need to avoid her now? Is there any kind of residual fear?"

"Not, uh, in my experience. It's like any panic attack - she knows it's irrational and she has no reason to be scared of me, or you, or whoever; it's just that when she's thrown into that position, she reacts to it anyway."

"Ok," Deakins said on a sigh, starting to feel immensely dumb for not having recognized what had been, in hindsight, _obviously _a panic attack and not just an avoidance. "Take her home. Bring her back tomorrow if she feels up to it, then you can have the weekend off."

"Yes, sir."

"Uh, and Bobby?" Deakins called just as Goren reached for the doorknob.

He paused, turning his head to look at the other man, suspicious of his tone. "What?"

"See if you can borrow some of her concealer before you come in tomorrow," Deakins said, touching the side of his neck pointedly.

Bobby mirrored the movement, touching his own neck in the same spot, and nearly choked when he felt the slight swelling he associated with either a bug bite or a hickey. And there definitely weren't any biting insects in Alex's apartment.

If Deakins hadn't had such mixed feelings about his two best detectives doing things to each other that resulted in hickeys, he would have burst out laughing at the bright shade of red Goren's face was turning. "Go," he ordered with a wave of his hand, suppressing a smile. "Take her home and don't let me see either of you until tomorrow morning."

Without a word, Bobby fled the room, hand still on his neck.


	37. Silent tears

A/N: Mmmmm the angst! I'm warning you guys now that I don't know much more about panic attacks than anyone else; most of what I'm writing for Bobby (and in the future, the therapist) to say is/will be just me using my common sense and vague knowledge of psychology. If I make any glaring mistakes, please let me know and I'll try to correct them.

* * *

Three hours later, she was on the couch, curled up against him in the tightest ball she could manage without hurting her ribs. She'd been like this almost since the moment he got her home; she'd locked the apartment door behind them, walked directly into the bedroom to change into a pair of his sweats, and returned to the couch, huddling up against one end with her face pressed into her knees.

She hadn't worn his sweats in days - ever since she discovered that she could button her own pants - and the fact that she'd opted to drown herself in his clothes tonight told him as much about her mood as anything else she'd done or said today. Unfortunately, the news her actions were communicating wasn't good: Alex was distraught. More upset than he'd ever seen her, including during the time right after she'd been injured and during any of her panic attacks.

And she wasn't talking. She just sat, her head buried in her arms, which were balanced on her knees, and trembled soundlessly.

Initially, he'd gone to the kitchen to make her tea, then brought it to her and sat on the other end of the couch, waiting for her to snap out of it, but she hadn't. She'd been like this for hours now, and even if he ignored her obvious depression, he knew the position had to be getting uncomfortable for her.

Eventually, he hadn't been able to stand it any longer. He'd moved across the couch and pulled her into his arms as gently as he could, enveloping her body in his and resting his cheek on top of her head, but she had remained curled in on herself, not resisting his touch but not accepting it, either. And still, not a word came from her; in fact, he hadn't heard even a whimper - only the sound of her slow, deliberate breathing.

So he mumbled nonsense into her hair as he stroked it softly, searching his mind for something to do or say that would help. He pleaded with her to talk to him about it. When she didn't show any response to that, he asked for a cry, a moan, anything at all to let him know she was there with him.

Not a sound, but he noticed wet patches spreading on her knees underneath her face. She was crying silently, holding herself in such tight check that her whole body was shaking from the strain.

He swallowed, hard. Alex didn't cry. Alex never, ever cried. He couldn't think of a time when she'd even come _close_ to crying. "Alex, please," he finally said, too concerned to continue to keep his peace. "It's not the end of the world. You've had these panics before and bounced back. You're strong enough to work through this."

His heart leapt when she began to slowly lift her head in response to that, but one look at her face sent it plummeting back into his stomach. Pale, drawn. Tear-stained. Her eyes were dull underneath the sheen of tears, and her lips trembled slightly as she looked at him and drew in a ragged breath. "You don't understand," she managed in a voice so clogged with tears that it was almost unrecognizable. "I . . . it's gone."

"What's gone?"

"Everything," she said flatly, dropping her head again. "The job. Me."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, the words sounding rougher than he meant them to be. "Nothing's gone. You're still you, you're still at MCS, you're still my partner. It's not gone."

She just shook her head against her knees and repeated, "It's gone. You don't understand."

"Ok, fine, you're right - I don't understand, but I want to. Explain it to me," he exhorted. "Come on," he added, applying slight upward pressure to her chin, "look me in the eye and explain it!" He injected a touch of derision into his voice - just enough to raise her hackles.

She tensed against him, then looked up and, with her nose less than an inch from his, stared him in the eye as he'd asked. "How would _you _feel if one day you realized that you can't do your job anymore? If you woke up and found out that the one thing you're good at is the one thing you can't do?"

"You can do your job, Alex. It was ten minutes of one day, that's all! You're just going to roll over and give up because of one bad day?"

She made a disgusted noise. "You make it sound so easy, like I'm going to wake up in the morning and suddenly I won't be afraid anymore."

"I didn't say anything like that, Alex, and you know it. What I'm telling you is it'll take time, but things will get easier."

"Jesus, is _this _what you spent all those years in the Army for? So they could teach you to spout useless clichés to people? Did it work on the Koreans, Bobby?"

He blinked, taken aback by her sudden attack, then decided that he'd much rather have her ranting at him than hiding her face from him. "Usually I was the one trying to break them down, not build them back up. It's not a valid comparison. I'm trying to help you here," he added before she could argue with him. "But you have to let me in."

"You're too far in as it is," she said shortly, turning her face away.

"Oh?" He pulled his hand away from her face so he could wave it to emphasize his words as he said, "So what, you're just going to sit here in your apartment and feel sorry for yourself? Tell yourself that no one else could possibly understand, so you don't have to listen to anything they say?" Part of him hated the harsh words, but a larger part of him was beginning to understand that offering her sympathy wasn't helping; maybe he needed to goad her into fighting back.

"Maybe."

"Oh, that's fucking brilliant, Alex. That's going to get you real far in life."

"Excuse me?" she said incredulously, returning wide eyes to his face.

"You heard what I said," he told her, moderating his tone slightly. "You didn't get where you are by letting yourself think there were things you couldn't do. So what's changed now?"

"Bobby, _look _at me! I can't even make myself stop crying," she muttered, dashing fresh tears from her cheeks. "How am I supposed to believe that I can make myself stop being afraid?"

"Why do you need to stop being afraid?"

"Huh?" She looked at him blankly for a second before saying, "Uh, maybe because I can't do my _job _the way I am right now?"

"So you're telling me that you were never afraid on the job before Steven Brewer got to you? Not even when you had a gun pointed at your head?"

"Of course I've been scared. You know that! But it's different now."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why is it different? Come on, Goren, don't act stupid. You've seen me! I can hardly even breathe, let alone stand up or fight back!"

"Uh-huh. Now tell me, is it the fear that's different, or is it the physical reaction?"

She glared at him. "I don't understand what the hell you're talking about. Would you just . . . leave me alone, please?"

"No." He tightened his arms around her. "Listen to me, ok? Just for another minute, then you can go lock yourself in the bathroom or whatever it is you think you're going to do."

She pulled away from him and crossed her arms, but didn't try to get up. "Fine. Talk."

"You're having panic attacks. That is _not _the same as fear. Fear is a healthy, logical reaction to something that presents a threat. It would be completely rational for you to be afraid if someone you didn't trust backed you into a wall. Panic attacks are illogical reactions to something that _doesn't_ present a threat. No matter how angry or upset you might be, you know that I'm not going to hurt you. You know Deakins isn't going to hurt you. Right?"

She nodded sullenly.

"So the problem isn't the fear. The problem is the reaction. You need to learn to turn that off."

"Bobby, I don't know what you're talking -"

"Let me finish," he said quietly, putting a hand lightly over her mouth. "You need to learn to turn it off, and you need to learn it in an environment where you feel completely safe. You know the department will pay for any counseling you might need, and -"

"No." She flung his hand away from her face. "I don't need a shrink, thank you very much. I've had enough of this," she added, scrambling off his lap to stand up. "You don't - Bobby!" she broke off when he clamped his hand around hers, not allowing her to move any further away.

"The way we've been doing things hasn't helped the panicking, Alex," he said as calmly as he could. "It's helped the nightmares, but not the panics. That leaves you with two choices: get someone to help you with it, or give up the job. You've spent this whole night forgetting that you have the first option, but I'm reminding you now and I want you to tell me this: would you rather cling to your pride and give up your job, or would you rather admit that maybe you do need help with this one thing?" Releasing her hand, he watched her stare at him silently. "Think about it. I'm going to make you something to eat; you must be hungry."

She watched him turn his back on her, watched him disappear into the kitchen. As the sound of cabinets opening and closing began to drift toward her, she looked down at her hands and tried to think.


	38. Phonecalls

A/N: Ugh, another chapter that required 3 or 4 rewrites to get to something approaching readable. This chapter kept trying to turn into a morality play about the stigma attached to mental illness, and that's just way too serious for a fluffy story like this. I still don't like what I ended up with, but it's the best I can do.

* * *

A few minutes later, she padded into the kitchen and spoke his name so softly that he almost wasn't sure whether he'd heard it or just imagined it.

He put down the plate he'd just taken out of a cabinet and turned to her, keeping his face neutral. "Right here."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold. "I know you're just trying to help."

He just nodded and took the plate to the fridge to retrieve a slice of leftover pizza. "This ok?" he asked, displaying it to her.

"What, pizza? It's fine," she said absently. "I'm more interested in the fact that you didn't respond to the apology I just made."

"I was waiting for you to tell me your decision." He stayed focused on the pizza instead of her as he put it in the microwave and turned the machine on.

She sighed and walked farther into the room, leaning against the counter next to him. "Why can't you be easily distracted, just for one night?"

He said nothing until the microwave beeped and he'd set the pizza in front of her, then he pointed to the plate and ordered, "Eat." A second later, he added, "And I guess distraction just isn't in my nature."

"Fine." She obediently took a bite, then said through the mouthful, "What do you think of Laura?"

"Laura?" It took him a second to place the name. "Your brother's wife?"

"Yeah." She swallowed, then shrugged. "She's a psychologist. Would it get you off my back if I talked to her?"

He thought about that. "Well, treatment by friends or family members isn't generally recommended - conflicts of interest are too common. It would be better to go to someone else. Oh, and keep eating," he added, tapping her plate with one finger.

"We had a big lunch. Sue me if I'm not too hungry right now. And I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm going to spill my guts to some stranger who doesn't know me or what I'm like." A hint of pugnacity still in her expression, she looked down at her pizza and added, "By the way, as I recall, it's just about your dinner time, too."

"I'm not hungry," he said mildly, deciding that he was going to have to aim for the lowest common denominator to get her to agree to any therapy at all. At least for the moment, it wasn't worth fighting her about it.

"Then stop trying to force me to eat, you big bully!"

He grinned and slid his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Just finish the slice and I'll stop being a bully."

She took one of her hands away from the pizza to reach back and muss his hair affectionately. "When it comes to me, I don't think you're ever going to stop being -"

A phone rang. "Mine," she said, putting the pizza back down on the plate. "Guess I'm not destined to have dinner. Pass me the phone?"

Keeping one arm around her waist, he reached back to grab her phone off the table. "Joanna," he told her, glancing at the caller ID as he handed it to her over her shoulder.

She groaned. "She's calling for a status report. Scat," she said, elbowing him playfully. "This is going to be girl talk."

"I like girl talk," he protested, replacing his free arm around her as she opened the phone.

"No you don't," she corrected in a voice that made it clear that he'd better not, if he knew what was good for him. "Hi, Jo."

"Hey. I don't what?" Jo answered, confused.

"Not you. Him."

" 'Him,' like Bobby? Ooh . . .!" Jo's high-pitched gasp of approval was audible even to Bobby, who winced and turned his head to get a better look at Alex's face as she talked. "So I take it things went well, since you're both still alive and in the same room?"

She thought back to the night before, trying to remember how they'd ended up in bed. "I guess you could say that, yeah. At least, they went well _after_ he got done threatening to cuff me to the bed."

"_What_?"

"Which was after he chased me into the bedroom," Alex went on, aiming for shock value now. "But of course . . . that was all after he looked down my shirt and then calmly asked if I wanted to hear about his day."

"What?" Jo said again. "Alex, are you drunk?"

"I'm . . ." She paused to try to push Bobby back a step when she felt him nip at her ear. "Stop it!" she whispered to him, but found herself completely unsurprised when he just grinned unrepentantly and moved his mouth to her neck.

"Alex?"

"Sorry," she said, elbowing him again. "No, I'm not drunk. I'm just . . . being distracted against my will."

Bobby snorted and mumbled something that sounded like, "Yeah, right," into her skin.

"Distracted?" Jo repeated. "Am I interrupting something over there?"

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, "you're interrupting Bobby trying to force me to eat a dinner I don't want."

A giggle from Jo. "And that's supposed to explain the heavy breathing I hear?"

"He snores." As an explanation, it didn't make sense, but it was the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

He pulled his head off her shoulder and looked at her indignantly. "I do not!"

"Shut up," she muttered. "He's just being annoying, Jo. Keep talking."

"Uh, if you say so. So," she went on excitedly, the pitch of her voice starting to rise as she switched into gossip mode, "tell me about it! Should I be jealous?"

Alex swallowed a laugh, knowing intuitively what the other woman was asking. "Um . . ." There was no way she could answer that question at the moment without either cracking up or turning embarrassingly red, considering he was pressed against her back with his arms around her and his head way too close to the phone. "Yes," she finally managed to choke out, praying that his powers of deduction - and hearing - were on vacation for the night.

"I _knew _it!" Jo squealed.

"Hey, keep your mind off my . . . that. What's wrong with the one you've got, anyway?"

Bobby tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered into it, "What are you telling her to keep her mind off of?"

"Bobby . . ." She shook her head and sighed, then turned her attention back to the phone. "Jo, hold on." Lowering the phone and turning around in Bobby's arms, she glared at him. "Would you _go away_? You don't want to hear this stuff!"

"Hey," he said with exaggerated innocence, "I'm interested, what can I say?"

"Trust me on this, Bobby, You really, really, really are not interested in hearing this stuff. Leave now or you're going to lose your innocence when it comes to how specific women can get."

He gaped at her, clearly not having expected that warning. "What are you going to do, give her a . . . a play-by-play?"

In truth, she wasn't going to tell Jo much more than she already had, but he deserved a little payback after hanging over her shoulder and purposely being annoying. "That, and player statistics," she told him with a wink and a smile.

"Alex!"

Her smile got bigger. "Told you you wouldn't want to hear it. Now go make yourself scarce; I'll only be a few more minutes."

Still looking slightly stunned, he wandered out of the room, shaking his head in disbelief. A second later, he reappeared in the doorway and blurted, "You're not really going to tell her that stuff, are you?"

She smirked. "I'm not answering that question until I'm done with this call, so the longer you bug me, the longer you'll wonder."

She watched him go again, waited five seconds to make sure he was gone, the put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry about that, Jo. Bobby was being difficult."

Jo, sounding like she was trying to keep from laughing out loud, said, "Do I have bad hearing, or did you really just tell him that we're going to discuss 'player statistics'?"

Alex smothered a giggle. "I did. He was being a pain in the ass; I figured I'd give him something else to think about."

"Well, I won't keep you much longer, since you probably want to go give him _another _'something else to think about.' I basically just wanted to check that you got some action and that you're feeling ok. Oh, and from Sean I'm supposed to tell you that he's trying to kill the rumors."

"Let's see," Alex said, considering Jo's list. "Your answers are yes, yes, and you can tell him I'm not really worried about it."

"You're not?" Jo said dubiously. "Why?"

She thought about that for a second. "Probably has something to do with the fact that I'm higher-ranked and higher-paid than all the schmucks doing the gossiping." _And because I know if it gets really bad, all I have to do is sic Bobby on them. _

Oh god, had she really just thought that? _What happened to fighting your own battles, Eames? What are you, a freakin' damsel in distress?_

"Oh. Well, that makes sense," Jo said. "Listen, I gotta go . . . Sean lost the TV remote and he's about three seconds from throwing a temper tantrum. I'll talk to you later, ok?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Wait . . . he's having a tantrum because he lost the remote? Why not just stand up and change the channel?"

"Alex, don't even ask me to try to explain male logic. Besides, you're the one who raised him, not me!"

Grinning, Alex sighed and rolled her eyes at nothing. "Ok, then I'll let you go. Tell Sean 'hi' and to stop being a jerk."

Jo snorted. "Like that's ever gonna happen!"

* * *

"Done?" Bobby asked cautiously as she walked into the living room a minute later.

She gave him a beatific smile and casually sat down next to him on the couch. "Yep."

He waited for her to provide more information, then looked hard at her at her when she didn't. "Did you really tell her that stuff?"

She would have liked to draw out the tension and torture him some more, but she decided to take pity on the poor guy, for both their sakes. "No, I didn't. But thinking I did is what you get for bugging me while I'm on the phone!"

He let out a breath. "You really didn't? You're not lying to me?"

"Ok, Goren, let's get a few things straight here," she admonished lightly, sitting up straighter and shaking a warning finger at him. "Number one, I don't lie to you except when there's a really, really good reason. Number two, what you heard me tell her is all I told her. And number three," she finished, shifting closer to him and smirking, "even if I _was _talking about it, it's not like you have anything to be ashamed of."

"I . . ." He stopped, blinked, and closed his mouth again as he processed what she'd said. "Oh."

_Hah, _she thought, _so far tonight, it's 2 points for me, none for Bobby. Hmm . . . let's see how else I can torment him . . . ooh, dangerous girl-type questions! "_Bobby?" she said, making her voice sound tentative.

That was not a good tone. He might not be the best when it came to understanding the rules of relationships, but that kind of serious tone just couldn't mean anything positive. "Uh . . . what?" he said reluctantly.

"Can I ask you a really important question?"

Warning lights began flashing in his head. Was he in trouble? Had she seriously been angry about him teasing her during the phone call? He swallowed. "Sure."

He sounded like he was two seconds away from trying to hide under the rug, she thought as she tried not to snicker. Maybe she'd let him off the hook a little quicker than she'd intended to. "Ok," she said quietly, doing her best Girl-About-To-Ask-A-Question-There's-No-Right-Answer-To impression. "If you couldn't find the remote control . . ." She paused, noting with amusement that his expression had changed from near-terror to confusion, then finished, ". . . what would you do?"

"What?" he asked blankly, almost able to feel his mental gears grinding as he tried to follow her question.

Alex watched his face for a few seconds, then burst out laughing and slumped against him. "Oh man, you should have seen your expression! I _totally _win tonight!"

He looked down at where she was leaning against his right arm and shaking with laughter. "That was cruel, Eames. You can't do that to a guy!"

"I just did," she pointed out, eyes twinkling. "But you know, I really would like to know the answer to my question."

"About the remote control?" he asked, easing his arm out from under her head and replacing it over her shoulders. "Why?"

She shifted so she could rest her head on his shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Jo had to get off the phone because Sean was pitching a fit over the remote getting lost. Apparently it's too difficult to just get up and change the channel. So now I'm wondering if he's just an idiot, or if it's a guy thing."

He thought about that for a second. "Am I supposed to tell you the truth or the, uh, right answer?"

"The truth, obviously," she said, quashing the urge to groan something along the lines of _duhhhh_. "I already know what the right answer is."

He toyed idly with her hair, sliding his fingers in and out, while he considered his answer. "Actually, I probably wouldn't do either."

"That's not an answer," she grumbled, digging a fist into his side. "Come on, tell me."

He smiled apologetically. "I'd probably just give up on the TV and pick up a book - even though that's not one of the choices you gave."

"Oh, you are _no _fun!"

"Probably not," he agreed. "But it appears that you're stuck with me, at least until you can kick me out without re-breaking a rib. And since I'm busy being no fun, I might as well ask - would you, uh, do me a favor?"

She beetled her brows. "What kind of favor? Is this going to involve handcuffs?"

He couldn't help but laugh when he noticed that she didn't appear to be averse to the idea. "No, it's something you'll probably like less."

"Than being cuffed?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "Ok, tell me what it is."

"Call Laura."

"Uh, Bobby . . . I already said I'd do that, remember? It was my idea in the first place," she reminded him.

"No, I mean now. Tonight."

She was so confused by his sudden change from teasing to serious that she didn't realize he had snuck her phone out of her pocket until he handed it to her. "What . . . I can't call her _tonight_! It's past . . ." She stopped, realizing that she had no idea what time it was.

She was about to check her watch when he answered the question for her. "It's not even nine yet. The twins will be in bed, right?" he said, looking to her for confirmation. "But she won't be?"

She was impressed that Bobby could remember that Laura had kids at all, let alone twins, considering how overwhelmed he had been the two nights that he had encountered her. "I guess. Probably."

"Then call her." This time, he opened the phone and started pushing buttons, trying to get to her phone book. "Now."

"Geez, fine. Keep your shirt on." She pulled the phone out of his reach and scrolled through the _Contacts _list to John and Laura's home number. "There, I'm pressing _send_, are you happy?"

"Yes," he said simply, leaning back against the couch so he could watch her comfortably.

She listened to the ringing in her ear, hoping that John wouldn't be the one to answer the phone. He'd have too many questions.

"Hello?" It was John. Of course it was John; how could she have expected her luck to actually be good for once?

"Hey, it's me," she said, striving for a tone of voice that didn't yell _Hi, I'm calling to discuss my mental instability_.

"Me, as in Beth, or me, as in Alex?" he replied. She and her younger sister had always confused people on the phone as children because they sounded so alike, but tonight, Alex suspected that John was just teasing her.

"The sister with the busted everything," she told him, feeling a smile tug at her lips.

"Other than your face, that is - according to what I heard through the grapevine. What's up?"

"Wait, what did you hear through the grapevine?" she asked warily.

John chuckled. "What I 'heard' is that half the guys in Narcotics asked Sean for your number today."

"They can bite me," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "Most of them are married; it was disgusting." Noticing Bobby's eyes narrowing, she cleared away her look of distaste and gave him a cheerful grin, then settled back against his chest. "But anyway, uh, I was kind of calling to talk to Laura . . . is she home?"

"Laura?" John repeated skeptically. "You're calling to talk to my wife? Does that mean this is about me? What'd I do?"

"Just put her on the phone, John."

"Yes, ma'am."

She heard the clunk of the phone dropping onto a table - it was getting to be a habit in her family, apparently - and the distant sound of voices, and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to admit to a psychological professional that she was going slightly batty. Before she could get into too much of a panic, though, Laura picked up the phone and said, "Alex? Is something wrong?"

_Everything! _she wanted to shout, but instead she just took a somewhat shaky breath and tried to sound coherent: "Nothing's, uh, wrong, no. It . . . I was just, uh . . . well, I've been having some . . . some trouble - uh, I mean mentally - and, um . . ."

"Ok." Laura's voice came through the phone sounding vaguely amused. "First thing you need to do is take a breath before you go and pass out or something." She waited a few seconds, then asked, "Did you breathe?"

"Yes." She glanced at Bobby, who was looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and concern, and took another deep breath.

"Good. Now, were you trying to say that you've been having psychological problems . . . which, I'd assume, center around when you got hurt? Are you calling me because you have questions?"

"Uh, yeah." She hated talking about this. Just _thinking _about it make her want to go hide under a rock, and talking was ten times worse.

Her thoughts about that were interrupted by the sight of Bobby's hand moving in front of her face. He stroked his fingers down her cheek to her chin, which he then used to tilt her head back so he could kiss her ear playfully. She widened her eyes and looked at him in mock-reproval, but he just smiled and used his other hand to start rubbing her back.

"Alex?" Laura said loudly. "Are you there?"

She jerked her attention away from the hand on her back. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Sorry."

"That's ok. It sounds like you're not doing too great with explaining what's going on, so how about I ask you a few questions and you tell me when I get things right or wrong. That sound good?"

"I guess."

"Have you been having nightmares or flashbacks?"

She looked at Bobby out of the corner of her eye and considered her answer to that. "I . . . was having nightmares for the first few weeks. They've gotten better since I have someone . . . uh, someone with me."

"Having a burly guy in bed with you is a good way to feel safe, huh?" Laura asked with a laugh. "I can buy that. Ok, next question: have you been having anxiety? By that I mean things like panic attacks, daydreams where you replay the attack . . . do you get nervous going near where it happened? Anything like that?"

All of a sudden, she had a headache. Raising one hand to rub her forehead, she tried not to sigh; a second later, Bobby's hand moved from her chin to her hair and began massaging her scalp, and this time she did sigh before turning her attention back to the phone. "Panic attacks. They're really bad, and I . . . I had one at work today, and . . ."

"Yikes," Laura said sympathetically. "I can only imagine how horrible that would have been. What did you do?"

Alex snorted self-deprecatingly. "Nothing. I couldn't make myself do _anything_, and I was just lucky Bobby came along to save me."

"Hmm." Laura didn't sound like she agreed with that, but she didn't make any protest. "Can you answer a few more questions?"

"I guess," Alex said quietly, although at the moment, she would much rather have run to bed and pulled the covers over her head.

"Ok. I'll stick some of them together, it's quicker. Number one: do you find yourself avoiding situations where you might get hurt again? Not necessarily where it happened. Number two: have you been feeling emotionally numb, like you're not really feeling the things you experience?"

"Um . . . I don't really know the answer to the first one. I try to avoid getting between a person and a wall, because that's when I have the panic attacks . . . but other than that, I really haven't gone anywhere where I could get hurt. Bobby sticks to me like glue."

"Ah, but such pleasant glue he is," Laura sighed admiringly.

"Laura!" Alex exclaimed with a small giggle. "Not only is he not up for grabs, but you're married to my brother who, as I recall, is just as tall and . . . what did you call it, burly?" She noticed that Bobby was paying closer attention, obviously having realized he was being discussed. "Besides," she told Laura, "Jo already called dibs on him."

Bobby's fingers trailed from her scalp down to the back of her neck, a silent communication of_ You're the one I'm interested in_ that she didn't miss, and she shivered. "Oh, and the answer to the second one is no, I'm definitely not feeling any, uh, numbness."

Laura laughed. "Yeah, that would definitely make a new relationship suck. Good for you. Ok, Alex, here's the deal," she said, switching back to a more serious tone. "Some of the stuff you're describing corresponds to symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Now, that's not necessarily what _is _going on, but it's a possibility. I think - speaking as your brilliant, professional sister-in-law - that you ought to get some therapy to work things out. Especially if it's interfering with your work, which it sounds like it is."

Alex groaned. "I was hoping you'd say I was perfectly normal so I could shut Bobby up." She heard him take an annoyed breath at that, and a second later his hand disappeared from her neck, only to reappear sliding up her back, unhooking her bra on the way. "Stop it!" she hissed, glaring at him.

He just gave her an unrepentant grin and leaned down to kiss the area of her back he'd just uncovered.

"Alex!" Laura's voice called teasingly through the phone. "You're gonna have to either make out with him _or_ talk to me, notboth at the same time. Can I get a little attention please?"

She wiggled her shoulder blades, trying to get rid of him without having to stretch her arms. "Sorry. He had too much, uh, coffee today. And believe me, there's no making out going on. What were you going to say?"

"I was asking if you wanted me to set you up with a therapist, someone I know is good."

"Uh . . . well I, uh, well . . ."

The reappearance of her nervous stammering got Bobby's attention, and he raised his head and looked at her curiously.

"I was kind of hoping that, uh, you might be able to work with me," Alex blurted quickly.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a second. "That's not really . . . something most therapists do. Work with family members, I mean. It tends to be more difficult."

"Oh." She let out a small breath of relief, finally seeing a way out of this. "That's ok. I told him you probably couldn't, but he didn't believe me."

His eyes, which had been drifting around the room, snapped back to her face. "She said no?" Alex nodded, and he held out his free hand. "Give me the phone."

"No. She said she can't, Bobby. Let it go."

"Give me the phone, Eames, or I'm leaving you home tomorrow."

"Ooh, last name," she said with false bravado as she scowled and handed him the phone. "I'm shaking in my shoes."

He didn't bother to reply to her, instead moving his attention to the phone. "Laura? This is Bobby. Alex didn't quite communicate what the problem is here."

"Bobby!" She reached for the phone, "accidentally" hitting him in the back of the head as she tried to grab it out of his hands. "Don't talk about me like I'm five years old!"

He covered the phone with one hand and glared back at her. "Then don't act like a five-year-old who forgets important parts of her explanation!" Then, uncovering the mouthpiece, he said, "Sorry, Laura. What I was about to say was that she . . . she, uh, didn't tell you an important part of her problem, which is that I . . . well, I practically had to twist her arm and frog-march her to the phone just to get her to agree to talk to _you_. She refuses to consider therapy from a stranger."

Laura was silent for a long second. "She's refusing therapy?"

"She said she won't talk to - and I quote - 'some stranger.' I explained the conflict of interest but . . . well, she's being Alex."

"Who do you want me to be, Carver?" Alex muttered sarcastically into his shirt sleeve.

"So she won't talk to a stranger, but she'll talk to me?" Laura sighed. "Yeah, I can see how we're kind of stuck." There was a short silence, then she sighed again. "Put her back on the phone, please."

Without a word, Bobby took the phone away from his ear and held it in front of Alex's face. She sat up slightly so she could see his expression, but couldn't read anything on it that told her what Laura had just said to him. Holding back a groan, she took the phone. "Hello?"

"You really won't consider talking to anyone else?" Laura asked bluntly.

She shrugged, although the only one who could see it was Bobby, who didn't react other than to tighten his hold on her. "Bobby's the only other person I know who's got training in psychology, and he won't do it because he says he's 'too close.' I'm _not _going to go talk to some stranger!" Her tone was getting more and more defensive, but damn it, she was really getting sick of answering the same question over and over!

"Oh. Don't get worked up, Alex," Laura said calmly. "If I'm the only way you'll accept therapy, then we'll do it. When would you like to start?"

"Never."

"That's not an option, sorry. How about . . . hmm, are you working this weekend?"

Alex blinked, realizing that she wasn't sure. "Bobby?" she said, looking up at him. "Are we working this weekend?"

"Nope. Deakins's orders."

"Nope," she repeated to Laura.

"Why don't you and Bobby come over for either lunch or dinner on Saturday, then. The men can entertain each other with war stories while you and I talk. We'll lock the kids in the basement or something," Laura joked. "Which would be better for you, lunch or dinner?"

Again, she looked to Bobby and repeated the question. "Let's do dinner," she told Laura a second later. "What time?"

"How about five? A little early, but it gives us plenty of time afterward to work."

"Working" sounded rather ominous to Alex, but out loud she only said, "Five is ok. Let me know if you want us to bring anything, ok? Salad, dessert, tranquilizer darts for the kids . . ."

"I will. Try to keep yourself away from any big stressors tomorrow, ok? No getting into gunfights or anything," Laura said, only half-joking.

"I'll try, but no guarantees."

"Well, just as long as you honestly try. Do you want me to tell John what's going on when he asks, or would you rather just keep it between us?"

Alex thought about that. "Will he keep his mouth shut about it?"

"Believe me," Laura said, the smirk audible in her voice, "I've got him well-trained when it comes to keeping his mouth shut."

"You can tell him, then. It's not that I'm really embarrassed about it, but I just, you know, don't want it getting around."

"Totally understandable. Well if you don't have any more questions, I'll let you go for now . . . you're probably tired. But you have my cell number, right? You _call me _if you need to talk to someone between now and Saturday," Laura told her, emphasizing _call me _to add weight to the command. "Ok?"

She couldn't imagine herself dialing up her sister-in-law in the middle of the day for anything other than an emergency, but she appreciated the sentiment. "Yeah, I will," she told the other woman.

"Good. Say hi to Bobby for me, ok?"

"Sure," Alex said, although he could probably hear the greeting as it came through the phone, anyway. "I'll talk to you later, then."

"Yep. Bye!"

"Bye."

She closed her phone and sighed.

"Everything ok?" Bobby asked, watching as she laid her head on his shoulder tiredly.

"I guess." She rested a hand on his knee and leaned more into him. "We're having dinner with Laura and John on Saturday night. She said we're going to 'work'," she said, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers, "after we eat."

"Good." He kissed the top of her head and tightened his arms around her. "It won't be as scary as you think it will. And I'll be there."

"I know," she said softly, lifting her head to look at him. Then, urging his head down so she could reach his lips, she kissed him and murmured, "Thank you."


	39. Therapy

A/N: You can thank PBS for this update . . . if they hadn't run a really cool show on the history of Broadway, I wouldn't have stayed up until the wee hours and finished this chapter tonight! It gets a little too sugary at the end but hell, it's three in the morning, it's the best I can do!

* * *

"Bobby . . ." Feeling slightly ridiculous even as she did it, Alex tightened her grip on his hand as they approached the door of her brother's house that weekend.

He looked down at her apprehensive expression, his face a mixture of amusement and reassurance. "She's not going to bite, Eames. You'll be just fine. Besides, you don't even need to worry about it until after we eat dinner." He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, then pressed the doorbell next to the door in front of them.

The chime of the bell was answered by the sound of rushing feet and muted squeals. "Guess the kids are still awake," Alex said dryly, noticing his look of alarm. "And don't worry," she added, mimicking the way he had tried to reassure her, "they don't bite, Goren."

He gave her a suspicious look. "That's what you said last time, too."

He was saved from her comeback by the opening of the door. "You came!" Laura exclaimed, grinning at them. She glanced over her shoulder at John, who stood slightly behind her, then looked back at Alex with a smirk. "John thought you'd chicken out."

John had the grace to turn red, but he was saved from further embarrassment by his children. "Aunt Alex!" yelled a high-pitched voice a second before two little bodies darted past their parents and slammed into Alex's knees.

She was jolted backwards into Bobby with a muffled grunt, saved from falling only by the presence of his bulk and his quick reaction as he grabbed her shoulders to stop her movement.

Within moments, John and Laura had each grabbed a twin and were alternately apologizing to Alex and scolding their children. "Amy!" Laura reproved gently. "What did I say about how you should act with your Aunt Alex?"

Amy frowned for a second, searching her memory, then smiled and repeated dutifully, "She got hurt and we need to be careful not to put any more dents in her."

Alex choked on a laugh and looked at question at her sister-in-law, who just shrugged and sighed. "That's close enough. I think she got that last part from your father, Alex."

"Yeah, I can see how she'd think discussing dents was normal after spending an afternoon with my dad," Alex said easily. "But you know, I think I like saying 'dents' instead of 'injuries,' anyway."

"See, Mommy?" Amy said smugly. "She doesn't mind."

Laura rolled her eyes and looked to her husband, who set Timmy back on his feet and said encouragingly, "Kids, why don't you go make sure that Mommy set the table the right way?"

The two children exchanged a knowing look that clearly communicated how well they saw through that attempt at a dismissal, but seemed to tacitly decide to take pity on their parents. "Ok, Daddy," Timmy chirped, pulling on his sister's hand. Within seconds, both children had disappeared into the depths of the house.

"Sorry," Laura muttered when they were out of sight. "I tried to convince them that the basement was much more interesting than you, but, well . . ." She winked. "They picked the lock."

Alex grinned, knowing that Laura was kidding. "I bet they did. So, uh . . . either of you two mind if me and Bobby actually step _inside _the house?"

John and Laura both looked around at that, realizing that they were in the doorway and their visitors were still on the stoop. "Come on in," John finally said, feeling dumb. "I hope pizza's ok with you guys," he added as they obeyed the invitation.

Laura nodded tolerantly at her husband, then looked at Alex and said wryly, "It better be. It's the only thing he can cook without setting the kitchen on fire."

"That's pathetic, John," Alex said, patting her brother on the arm. "What are you going to do if Laura gets sick of cooking for you and leaves you to starve?"

"Eat takeout," John said without hesitation.

She giggled. "That's probably safer, yeah. But anyway, pizza's fine with me. How bout you, Bobby?" she added, moving her eyes to her partner. She found herself relatively unsurprised to see that he seemed to have forgotten anyone was around him. "Goren," she tried again, this time punctuating it with an elbow in his side.

Bobby, who had been observing Alex's interactions with her family with scientific interest, jumped and put a hand to his side. "Oh, uh . . . pizza's ok with me."

Not fooled by his quick recovery, Alex elbowed him again. "Stop making a case study of us or I'm sending you home without any dinner, whether it's pizza or anything else."

It took him a moment to realize that she was referring to her apartment as his "home." It did have a rather nice ring to it, now that he thought about it; he wondered if she knew she'd said it. "Uh, sorry."

Laura looked from Alex to Bobby and back, taking in the silent conversation they seemed to be having, then clapped her hands and said briskly, "Well! Why don't we head into the dining room, folks?"

* * *

It was a subdued Alex who emerged from Laura's study a few hours later with her hands tightly clasped in front of her.

Bobby and John, who had spent much of the evening serving as jungle gyms for the twins but were now settled in the living room, both looked up. "Al?" John said, watching her closely from where he lounged on the couch. "Things go ok?" When his sister didn't answer, he looked past her to his wife. "Laura?"

Alex crossed the room without looking at either John or Laura, her attention completely focused on her partner, who was occupying a beat-up recliner and watching her warily. "Eames?" he managed as she approached him. "Are you -" He broke off, startled, as she dropped onto the arm of the chair and put her arms around his neck. Lifting a hand to touch her back comfortingly, he looked over her shoulder at Laura, who was watching from across the room, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Laura, not looking the least bit alarmed, just smiled and nodded at him as she mouthed silently, "She did good."

Bobby let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and slipped his other arm around Alex, resting his forehead against hers and supporting her head with one bicep. "You ok?" he murmured, quietly enough for only her to hear.

She knew he could feel the fine tremors running through her, but she nodded anyway, overruling her body. "Yeah. Just . . . home?"

He was quiet for a second, analyzing her behavior, before he pulled his head away from hers and stroked a thumb over her cheek. "Ok." Moving his eyes to the couple sitting across the room, he nodded slightly. "Laura, thank you. I think . . . I think we're going to head home now. It's been a long night."

"Of course." Laura moved toward Alex, squatting down to give her sister-in-law a hug. "You did good, Alex, really. Call me tomorrow, ok?"

Alex took a deep breath and let it out, trying to steady herself, then looked up at the other woman. "Yeah, I will. But . . . Laura?"

"Yes?"

"Is it . . . is it supposed to be this bad?"

Laura watched Bobby tighten his arms around Alex slightly at that question and fought the urge to smile. With a supporter as fierce as Bobby Goren, she thought it would be difficult for Alex to _not _recover, at least eventually. "The hardest part is the starting, hon," she said gently, realizing that she'd been quiet a second too long. "But it gets easier, the more you talk it out."

Alex nodded dubiously. "Ok. Bobby, can we . . .?"

"Yeah." He stood, casually drawing her up with him so it didn't look like he was assisting her. "Thank you," he repeated to Laura. "For dinner and everything else."

Laura shook her head dismissively. "Family is family, Bobby. I don't need to be thanked. Take her home now," she added, herding them toward the door, "and make sure she sleeps, at least some."

"I will."

* * *

They both drifted off to sleep within minutes of slipping into bed that night, but Bobby was jerked awake after what seemed like only minutes by screams coming from the woman beside him. It took him a moment to realize where he was and what was happening - it had been so long since either of them had a nightmare that he'd almost forgotten it was a possibility - and then he was on his knees, lurching to her side of the bed to take hold of her shoulders. "Alex!"

Eyes tightly closed, she whimpered and flung an arm toward him as if she were trying to fight him off.

Not wanting to make her any more frightened than she already was, he moved his hands off of her and instead lay next to her, half-covering her body with his. "Alex," he said again, more quietly this time, touching her cheek gently. "It's a dream. Come on, wake up."

Her body stiffened and her eyes fluttered open, then closed again. Forcing them open a second time, she tried to focus on the man next to her. "What . . .?"

"Nightmare," he supplied quickly, feeling a surge of relief at her return to consciousness. "You're safe; it was just a dream."

Alex was quiet for a few seconds, concentrating on her breathing, before she turned her face into his neck and threw her arms around him. "Jesus . . ."

"Was it the same one?" he asked quietly, not sure if it was a good idea to pry.

She shook her head. "No. There . . . it . . . it wasn't him, it was just . . . there was blood and . . . and people, but I couldn't see their faces . . . and they wanted . . ." Breaking off on a sob, she closed her eyes and pressed her face harder against him. "There's no way I'm going back to sleep, not after that."

He raised one hand to cradle the back of her head and pressed a kiss against her hair. "I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you with me around."

Her level of distress became obvious when she didn't laugh at him for making such a chauvinistic statement. Instead, she just swallowed hard. "Bobby . . . why was it different? I mean, I was getting used to the dreams about . . . about me getting hurt. Why did it change now?"

"I don't know," he admitted, resting his cheek on top of her head. "I don't know . . . but it's not real. Do you want me to make some tea?" He smiled when he felt her nod against his neck. "Ok, but to do that, we're going to have to stand up. Ready for that?"

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the kitchen, he in a pair of sweatpants and she in an oversized t-shirt, and sipping slowly at their tea.

"You know," Alex said slowly, "I don't know where you got this tea thing, but it really works. I almost feel sane again."

"There was never a point where you _weren't _sane," he corrected without looking up from his drink. "It was just a nightmare."

"Don't tell me it was 'just' a nightmare!" she snapped, glaring at his bowed head. "There wasn't anything 'just' about that thing."

Bobby, who was trying valiantly not to fall asleep sitting up, looked up at her with tired eyes. "I know. But you're perfectly sane, I promise. You just had . . . a traumatic night."

"No shit," she scoffed. "You think I need _you _to tell me that?"

With a sigh, he returned his eyes to his mug so she couldn't see the flash of frustration that appeared in them. At any other time, on any other day, he would have been perfectly happy to let her take out her anger on him, if it made her feel better, but he'd spent the entire evening with at least half his consciousness focused on what was going on behind the door of Laura's study and he was exhausted. Not only wasn't he in the mood for a midnight bitch session, but he wasn't sure he could stay awake for it in the first place. "Do you want to tell me about the dream?" he managed after a second, trying not to allow the weariness into his voice.

"There's . . . not really much to tell," she said with a shrug. "It wasn't really the kind of dream that had a plot; it was just, I don't know, the sensation of being scared."

"Oh," he mumbled with a nod of understanding. "Like I said, it's been a hard night. I don't think it's unusual to have a nightmare after you start . . . discussing what happened again."

Alex was silent for a long moment, waiting for him to look at her. "Aren't you going to ask me what Laura and I talked about?" she prompted when he stubbornly refused to show her his eyes.

"No."

"Why not?" she shot back.

"Eames, I'm tired. You're tired. This discussion can wait until tomorrow, unless you _need_ to have it now."

She stared at him, intrigued by this uncharacteristic lack of curiosity, and set her mug down on the table. "Bobby?" she asked, leaning forward in an attempt to see his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It's just . . . I'm just tired."

"Goren." This time her pronunciation of his name was a command, and she was relieved when he obeyed and lifted his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He abruptly slammed a hand down on the table, making them both jump. "Damn it, Alex, I'm _tired_. Can't you understand that? You're not the only one who's had a stressful night, and . . ." Taken aback at his own harsh words, he bit off the rest of his sentence and lowered his head, staring at the wooden tabletop. "I'm sorry. Forget I said that."

Alex watched him for a second, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in this conversation. "Bobby," she finally murmured, slipping out of her chair and moving to stand behind him. "I'm sorry I woke you up like that. It can't be fun to wake up to the sound of someone screaming."

He raised his head in surprise when he felt her hand on his shoulder. Lifting his hand to cover hers where it lay, he sighed and said again, "I'm sorry."

"Are you done with your tea?"

"What?" he said blankly, confused by the change of subject.

"Your tea," she repeated, prying his fingers off the handle of the mug. "Are you done with it?"

"Uh, I guess."

"Good." She pushed both mugs into the center of the table, then wrapped her hands around his arm and pulled. "Let's go back to bed."

"Now?" he asked, gently pushing away her hands and standing up under his own power to keep her from straining herself.

"You're tired," she pointed out with a small smile. "You just said so yourself. So, let's go back to bed."

"Alex . . ."

"Shush," she ordered. "We're going to bed; stop arguing about it."

"Why?"

"Why not? I'm tired too." She took his hand and pulled, not releasing it until he began to follow her toward the bedroom. "Bobby, come on. You're allowed to blow up every once in a while; I'm not mad at you."

He shook his head. "I shouldn't . . . I didn't . . ."

Alex heaved a sigh and stepped behind him to give him a hard shove. "Move, Goren. You can continue your apology in bed, if you have to."

Not bothering to answer, he followed her the rest of the way into the bedroom. He forced his eyes away as she stripped off her t-shirt, then looked back to find her smirking at him as she said, "You're allowed to look, you know. It's self-defeating to start a fight and then cut _yourself _off."

He scowled, pointedly ignoring her comment as he slid into bed and turned onto his side, facing away from her.

She studied him for a second, then copied his actions, climbing over him rather than around him to get to her side of the bed. An extra knee in his stomach on the way made her point clear, and she settled down against the pillows, folding her hands across her stomach and waiting for him to say something.

"I'm tired," he finally mumbled defensively.

"So then go to sleep," she replied without moving.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just . . . can't."

"Stop sulking, Bobby."

"Sulking?" he repeated disbelievingly. "You think I'm . . . sulking?"

She turned over to face his back and raised a hand toward his shoulder, knowing he heard and felt the moment even if he didn't turn to watch it. "If you're not sulking, then why won't you look at me?" She let her hand drift toward the skin of his back, moving slowly and waiting for a reaction, any reaction.

Bobby sighed, squirmed uncomfortably for a second, and then turned over. "Why aren't you angry?"

She pulled her hand back and looked at him quizzically. "Huh?"

"I just . . ." He waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchen. "I just started shouting at you in there for no reason. Why aren't you angry?"

"You're kidding, right?" she asked, slinging an arm over his shoulders and dropping her face onto the pillow next to his.

"No!" he said, indignant at the way she seemed to be dismissing his question. "I am _not_ kidding," he added as he tried to shrug off her hand.

"Bobby . . .." She tightened her hand slightly on his shoulder. "How long have you been staying here with me?"

He just looked at her for a moment, trying to figure out where she was going with her question. "About two weeks. You already know that."

"How many times have you had to wake me up from a nightmare, or practically carry me up the stairs, or hold my hand while I go and have another panic attack?"

"That's not . . ."

"You've been a fucking saint!" she said, giving his shoulder a playful push. "Trust me, I'm not going to bite your head off if you get sick of listening to me whine every now and then." She watched his face grow a little less tense, and smiled. "What kind of partnership is this if we can't bitch at each other every now and then?"

"Alex . . ."

"Bobby," she mimicked, giving him a teasing smile. "Come on. I'm way too tired to sweet-talk you out of this any more tonight. Can we go to sleep now?"

He gave her a considering look, holding it just long enough to make her nervous, then rolled toward her until he had her pinned to the bed. "Sure," he said, leaning in to steal a kiss before she even realized he was doing it. "But if you have another nightmare, all bets are off."

"No more nightmares," she said, shaking her head firmly as she cuddled against him. "Not when I've got you wrapped around me like this."

He gave her a cautious squeeze. "Sounds like a deal."


	40. The early morning visitor

The sound of someone knocking on the apartment door woke them early the next morning. Groaning, Alex raised her head and glared, bleary-eyed, toward the offending door, then flopped back down to her original position, half-covering Bobby. " 'S too early," she mumbled into his arm. "Make them go away."

Not feeling much more awake than she looked, he sighed. "Who is it?"

"How'm I supposed to know? Lent my x-ray vision goggles to Jo," she replied without picking her head up.

Bobby sighed again. She obviously didn't have any plans to get out of bed in the near future, and their early-morning visitor, whoever it was, needed to be gotten rid of. "I guess that means I'm supposed to go answer it?"

"Mmhmm." With that, she rolled away from him and buried her face in the pillows.

He gave her back an annoyed look - as annoyed as he could manage when looking at her bare skin - and then rolled out of bed and pulled on the sweatpants he'd discarded when they went back to bed after her nightmare. "This better be good."

"Mmm," Alex commented disinterestedly. "I'll make the coffee when I get up."

"Yeah, whenever _that _is," he teased, giving the mattress a gentle shake before turning away and heading for the source of the banging noises.

It occurred to him as he pulled open the door that he probably looked very much like he'd just rolled out of bed, with his hair sticking up and his eyes half-closed, and he should hope whoever was on the other side didn't scare easily.

A second later, he realized that he should have been careful what he wished for.

Jimmy Deakins, standing in the hallway and staring at him, appeared to be having much the same thought. "Uh . . . Goren," he managed after a stunned moment. "Morning. Did I, uh . . . wake you guys up?"

Alex was going to kill him, he thought as he fought the urge to slam the door in the captain's face. "Bad night," he mumbled weakly by way of explanation, getting enough control of himself to swing the door wider and motion the other man inside. "She had nightmares."

"I, er . . . didn't realize you were still staying here. At night, I mean." Deakins, obviously wary of a half-dressed Eames popping into sight at any moment, shifted his eyes from side to side as he spoke.

It was too early for him to be able to make coherent excuses, Bobby decided with a mental groan. "Like I said," he muttered, turning his back to Deakins and heading for the coffee pot, "it's the nightmares. She feels better if I'm around."

"Oh. Well I, uh, just stopped by to see how she's doing. I guess I should be glad you're here, since she still seems on edge around me."

Bobby didn't respond to that except to gesture to the coffee pot and look at Deakins questioningly.

"Yeah, please," the captain said with a grateful nod. "I had to drop Jenny off at dance practice this morning, or there's no way I'd be awake this early, either."

"Dance practice?" Alex asked from the doorway, stifling a yawn as she stumbled toward the life-giving scent of coffee. "This early?"

Both men froze for a moment, and Bobby was pretty sure that he and his boss were once again sharing the same thought: please let her have had the presence of mind to get dressed before coming out of the bedroom.

"Morning, Eames," he said after a second, managing to sound casual as he turned to face her. "I, uh, thought you wanted to sleep late."

She gave him a knowing look as he took in her full-length flannel pajamas, but she cleared the smugness off her face before Deakins copied Bobby's movement and turned around, too. "It's hard to stay asleep with two gorillas making noise in my kitchen. Why did your daughter have dance practice this early, Captain?"

"What? Oh," the older man mumbled as he seemed to let out an inaudible sigh of relief. "She has a recital tonight and they're spending the day embroidering each other's tutus, or something like that."

"Embroidering tutus?" Alex echoed with raised eyebrows. "I bet she's just thrilled that you're the parent playing taxi today."

"Hey," he said with a shrug, "I never claimed to know anything about ballet. Now, I'm more interested in hearing how you're feeling than in what my daughter's thinking at the moment."

"I'm fine." She accepted the mug that Bobby was holding out to her and set to work doctoring her coffee up with cream and sugar. "I'd be even more fine if I hadn't been woken up at seven in the morning on a Sunday, but other than that . . . I'm fine."

"Sorry." Deakins looked from one detective to the other cautiously before adding, "So, I hear you're still having nightmares?"

She shot a quick glare at Bobby, who shrugged helplessly, then looked back at Deakins. "Only every now and then. Last night happened to be one of the 'now and thens.' Why?"

"Just . . . concerned about you. I wanted to know if, uh . . ." He looked at Bobby as though seeking help, but found only an impassive face looking back at him. "I wanted to know if you've made any plans to get counseling. Like I told Goren, I know he's good, but he's not that good, and -"

"Calm down," she told him with a dry smile. "I had my first appointment with the, uh . . ." She trailed off, not sure what to call Laura.

"Therapist," Bobby supplied easily.

"Uh, right. I had my first appointment with the therapist last night. Which is the reason for tonight's nightmares, according to our resident genius over here," she added, tipping her head toward Bobby.

"Any improvement with . . . things?"

Both detectives looked at Deakins with amusement. "I'll let you know once I've done more than sleep between then and now," Alex said. "The evidence is a little limited at the moment."

"Oh." He stared into the cup of coffee Bobby had poured him, feeling like he'd blundered into the middle of something he obviously hadn't done enough homework on. "Sorry. I'm just . . ."

"Concerned," she finished for him. "I know, Captain. And I appreciate it, really, but . . . well," she said with a shrug, "I just don't appreciate it quite so much this early in the morning."

"Yeah. Well, uh . . . sorry 'bout that." Setting his mug on the counter, Deakins took the opportunity to study Eames's face, deciding that she didn't look upset or overly stressed. In fact, she looked quite . . . relaxed. He didn't really want to think about why that was. "I'll leave you to it, then. Sorry for interrupting your . . . uh . . . your, uh, sleep."

Alex, not sure she could contain her giggles at the look on his face, stayed in the kitchen as Bobby escorted Deakins to the apartment door.

When Goren appeared back in the kitchen doorway, he found her leaning against the counter, shoulders shaking with either laughter or sobs. "Alex?" he asked cautiously, not sure which it was.

A snicker escaped her as she raised her head to look at him. "I don't know who enjoyed that less - him or you!"

He blinked. "Can you blame me? I just opened _your _apartment door to _our _boss, looking like I'd been doing god-knows-what in bed before getting up to let him in!"

She grinned and moved forward to hug him. "I know, but it's still funny. I guess I never told you _exactly_ what he said when I talked to him about my dad, did I?"

"Huh?" He fixed his eyes on her suspiciously. "What did he say?"

Resting her head against his shoulder and letting him support her weight, she slipped her arms around his waist. "Oh, nothing much . . . basically just that he knew we were sleeping together and he wasn't going to complain."

He stiffened against her, shocked. "But . . . we weren't, not then!"

"True, but we are now. And his point stands. He doesn't want to know about it, either way."

"You've got to be kidding me," Bobby sputtered, setting her away from him so he could stare down at her face. "He came out and said that?"

"Well, no. As I recall," she replied, looking thoughtful, "he referred to 'some things' he didn't want to know about, and other 'things' he wanted to avoid finding out about."

He shook his head. "Alex, I can't deal with . . . revelations like this this early in the morning. Give me a break."

"Wuss." Sighing, she rubbed her side and turned away. "I should have taken some aspirin before bed last night. That run-in with the kids is catching up with me."

Grabbing her hand before she could move out of reach, he pulled her back and brushed his fingers over her ribs. "I didn't even think of that. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. Nothing bad," she said quickly, "I promise. Just a little sore."

"Hmm." He glanced at their coffee mugs, sitting on the counter, then looked back at her. "Want to take the coffee and go back to bed? I'll even . . ." He paused, clearing his throat nervously. "I'll even make some breakfast if you'll tell me about your conversation with Laura while we eat it."

"What kind of breakfast?"

He thought about that. "Pancakes?"

Alex grinned. "You've got yourself a deal. Meet me in bed when you've got the food," she added over her shoulder as she turned toward the bedroom.

* * *

"Ok," she said half an hour later, enlivened by the scent of warm maple syrup coming from the plate in front of her. "What do you want to know?"

He swallowed his bite of pancake and shrugged. "Everything. What did she say to start?"

"Well, as I recall," she said thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin, "she said, 'How are you, Alex?'"

He gave her a dirty look. "You know what I mean, Eames. Don't make me pry it out of you or this is the last time I'm making you breakfast in bed."

She stared at him in mock-horror for a second, then grabbed her plate and hugged it to her. "I knew this was too good to be true! But . . . oh, fine," she broke off as his eyes narrowed, "I'll talk, ok?"

"Ok," he replied with a solemn nod, returning his eyes to his plate.

"We talked for a little while just about how I was feeling, physically, and how everything I do lately seems to be against doctor's orders . . ."

"For the simple reason that the doctor said you shouldn't overtax yourself," he interrupted, pointing his fork at her accusingly.

"Yeah, fine. That's not my point." She leaned forward and snitched the bite off his fork before he could move it toward his mouth, smiling brightly as she chewed. "Now, as I was saying before you interrupted, we talked about how I felt. She asked me if there was a reason I wouldn't take it easy like I'm supposed to."

"And what did you tell her?" he prompted, moving a safe distance away from her and attempting another bite.

Alex shrugged and said simply, "I can't not do anything. If you think I'm annoying like this, you don't even want to think about what I'd be like if I was stuck in bed."

"How come?"

"What, do they teach you these lines in shrink school? I'm getting deja vu, here."

"It's the logical question to ask," he pointed out. "So what's the answer?"

"Bobby . . ."

"Hey," he said, crossing his arms and looking at her sternly, "I help up my half of the bargain and made your breakfast. Are you going to punk out of your side of it?"

"Jerk." She reached out and used her fork to poke the back of his hand playfully, then sighed. "I don't like being taken care of, I guess. It makes me . . . uncomfortable."

He looked down at his hand, where there was now a patch of sticky syrup where her fork's tines had been. "You're letting me take care of you," he said as he raised the hand to his mouth. "And it hasn't been horrible."

She grabbed his hand and licked off the syrup before he could. "Yeah, but if I were stuck in bed, trust me - I'd have killed you by now. Or you'd have killed me. Laura said she thinks it's something to do with my self-esteem, which I think is bull, but -"

"No," he interrupted," she's probably right."

"What?"

"You feel guilty about how things happened." He rubbed his hand on the comforter, drying it, then grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "You think it would be using them, to let people help you."

She frowned. "If you two are going to share a brain, there's no way I'm dragging my ass all the way to Laura's house next time. You can just channel her from bed. And yeah, ok, I feel a little guilty. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Except when you let it get in the way of your safety by refusing help."

She shifted her eyes away from him, concentrating on forking up another bite of pancakes. "You say that like your guilt issues aren't five times the size of mine."

"That's . . . irrelevant," he said dismissively. "What did Laura say next?"

"Well, let's see. She asked how I'm doing with friends and coworkers, if I'm getting along with them. I told her . . ." She paused to sigh. "I told her than when I'm not busy panicking when they get near me, I get along fine."

"Did you talk about the panics?"

"Yeah, of course. That's why I went in the first place. Shove over," she added, setting her plate down on the nightstand and sliding down in bed until she was snuggled against his side with her head on his shoulder. "She said it's not unusual for people to have panic attacks after a trauma."

Her words sounded good, but he knew her well enough to see that there was something more underneath that statement. "So then why don't you sound convinced?"

"I'm convinced," she protested. "I mean, I can read . . . and you've dropped enough tidbits about how people respond to trauma . . ."

"But . . .?"

Shaking her head, she turned her face away from him slightly. " 'Everyone' isn't me. I'm supposed to be better than that."

He slid his arm under her head and hugged her to him. "Alex, you're -"

"I know, I know. Trust me, I got this lecture from her last night, too."

"Oh." Obviously she didn't want to delve deeper into why she felt she wasn't entitled to human weakness; he'd oblige her for the moment and move the conversation along. "Did she give you any tips for coping during the . . . I mean, when you're, uh, scared?" _That sounded dumb_, he thought. Unfortunately, there wasn't a word that could conveniently describe her problem without carrying connotations of loss of control, which he knew she hated.

Alex sighed against his arm. "Kind of. She said . . . she asked me how the, uh, attacks felt, and when I told her it's like everything goes into slow motion and I'm watching someone get ready to hurt me, she said . . ." Fidgeting nervously, she groaned. "This is hard."

He sat up, startling her, and put his plate on top of hers on the nightstand. Then, returning to the bed and lying on his back, he pulled her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her without speaking.

He was warm, she mused as she relaxed on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "She said that I should remember that if I have time to get scared when someone corners me, then I also have time to react."

"Hmm. You're not as trapped as you feel like you are?" he translated.

"Yeah, something like that. I don't know, though . . . I mean, I already knew she was right, and that hasn't stopped me from freaking out up 'til now."

"It's not a magic cure, Alex."

"No kidding," she said with a snort. "You're preaching to the choir, Goren. Hell, right about now I'll take whatever help I can get."

"Well," he murmured, tipping her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "Did talking about it make you feel better? Worse? The same?"

"I don't know," she said slowly. "It hurt to talk about it . . . I felt so damn pathetic, and then she asked me to tell her about Brewer and I nearly started crying right there . . . and you saw me when I came out."

She hadn't answered his question, and they both knew it. He remained quiet, waiting for her to add to her thoughts.

"But now I do feel a little better. Not 'better' like I'm fixed, but just . . . a tiny bit farther away from bursting into tears than I was yesterday, maybe."

He tightened his arms around her as much as he dared and brushed his lips against hers. "That's good, Alex. That's how it's supposed to work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She sighed and lowered her head for another kiss. "It's still Sunday, right?"

"Uh, yeah . . ."

"And you locked the door behind Deakins?"

"Yeah," he repeated warily, willing to abandon the topic of her therapy, but not sure whether these questions were leading somewhere good.

"Good," Alex said firmly, kissing his ear. "Now, I'm not getting off you anytime soon, so you might as well settle in."

"Mmm." He glanced at the plates and mugs sitting on the table next to the bed, then at the woman stretched out above him. "I'm not going to argue with you. The dishes can wait."


	41. Epiphany

A/N: Shorter than usual, but the scene just decided it wanted to end where it did.

A/N 2: Incidentally, I've uploaded the next chapter of Sacrifice twice today, and still can't get it to show up on the site. I'll keep trying, but until then, at least you guys can know that it's done and soon to be posted

* * *

Four more sessions with Laura and a week later, Alex was finally starting to believe she might be able to pull herself out of the pit her panic attacks had created. She was back at work full-time - Goren, knowing she was determined, had made only a token protest - and although she was still on desk duty, she was no longer exhausted by the simple act of being awake and active. In fact, she felt almost normal again, she decided.

"Alex?"

She looked up from the form she'd been staring blindly at and saw that her partner was looking at her curiously. "Huh?"

"You ok over there?" he asked, looking at her with concern. "You look . . . distracted."

Shaking her head to clear it, she sighed. "Sorry. I'm just spacey today. Lack of sleep'll do that to a girl," she added with a smirk. Bobby flushed and looked away from her, and she mentally chalked up another point for herself. "Remember to breathe, partner," she said, standing up and stretching. "I'm going to go get some more coffee, you want some?"

"Yeah, please." Slightly embarrassed by her reminder of how they'd spent the previous night, he kept his eyes on the computer screen in front of him as he spoke; as a result, he missed the softening of her eyes as she looked at him.

"No problem." She reached in front of him to grab his mug, enjoying the way he jumped when she brushed against him on the way forward. "I'll be right back."

Alex smiled to herself as she wandered toward the break room. Her ribs were rarely painful nowadays and she didn't really need help to do anything, but he was still staying at her apartment. Neither of them had brought up the possibility of his leaving, and she was quite content to keep it that way. To her surprise, the last few weeks of sharing a living space with Goren had been . . . enjoyable.

If anyone had asked her before the attack whether she could live with her partner, she would have laughed them out of the room after making a crack about her apartment not being big enough to fit both her belongings and his personality, but sharing an apartment with him had come to feel routine. Normal. She thought she just might be upset if he ever got around to moving out.

_We squeeze the toothpaste the same way, and we put on new toilet paper rolls in the same direction_, she thought. _And that's more than a lot of couples have_.

. . . And that was quite enough of that line of thought, she scolded herself as she put down their mugs on the counter next to the coffee pot. Time to focus on real life - and luckily for her, in real life it smelled like someone had brewed hazelnut coffee today, instead of plain. Making a mental note to profusely thank whoever had done it, she filled her mug and then his.

"Eames!"

She jumped, startled by Goren's excited call from the doorway of the room. "Didn't I just leave you at your desk five seconds ago?" she asked with a grin. "You got news or something, or have you just had too much caffeine already today?"

"Samuel Barry!"

"Who?" she replied disinterestedly, mentally writing off his excitement and turning back to their coffee.

"The case I've been working on," he clarified, sounding like he couldn't imagine how she forgot such a thing. "We just got a tip, and -"

"Hold on, there," she cut him off. "I haven't been in on your cases except for paperwork for the past few weeks, remember?"

"Oh . . ." That gave him pause for a second, but then he waved a hand, dismissing her protest and moving up behind her. "Well, you can catch up without much trouble. We have to -"

She turned, holding a mug in each hand, and froze as she realized that he was almost on top of her. "Bobby . . ." God damn it, not again!

"The guy said Barry dumped the gun in Battery Park," Goren went on, not even noticing her protest, "and you and I need to -"

She could feel the same old fear starting to creep through her and she made a mental note to give him a good whack upside the head once she got him away from her. "Bobby, stop it," she repeated, reaching behind her to put down the mugs she had just picked up.

"Huh?" He looked confused for a moment, then seemed to discount her comment as he leaned forward, trying to drive home his point about the case. "We can take a couple uniforms and go down there, and . . ."

She tuned him out as she felt her breathing catch. _No! _she told herself firmly. _Not again. You know he's not going to hurt you! What did Laura say to do . . .? "_You have time to act," she reminded herself in a bare whisper, trying to channel the strength her sister-in-law insisted she had.

"What? Oh, is that my coffee?" he asked, abruptly changing topics as he tried to reach past her to take his mug.

_Act, Alex! _"Stop it!" she said again, this time accompanying the words with a hard shove to his chest.

Bobby stumbled back a step, splashing the contents of his mug over his left arm and leg as he tried to regain his balance. "What the . . .?"

Alex's lips twitched as she tried to hold back laughter. She wasn't sure if it was because she'd managed to break through the fear or just because he looked so adorably confused, staring down at his stained suit, but either way, in that moment Alexandra Eames felt pretty damn good. "Sorry," she managed, offering him her napkin and then getting out of his way, since now that she had beaten one panic attack, there was no sense setting herself up for another right away.

Something in her voice must have caught his attention, because he stopped dabbing at the coffee on his sleeve and looked up to study her face. A second later, his face took on a rueful expression. "I did it again, didn't I. Shit!" He raised his fist to his mouth and closed his eyes, silently calling himself every name in the book. "I'm sorry, Alex. I just -"

"Whatever," she said, having absolutely no interest in his apology at the moment. "You got caught up in the case, I know. It doesn't matter. But Bobby . . . did you notice anything different about it this time?"

He blinked. "Different?" He glanced down at the spilled coffee, then back up at her, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he realized what she was talking about. "You pushed me away."

She nodded, matching his smile with an even larger one of her own. She felt like she'd just taken a leap off the high dive and lived to tell about it. Damn it, she felt _good_!

"You stopped it?" he asked, almost unable to absorb such good news. "Alex!" Not bothering with more words, he caught her in a tight hug and grinned into her hair.

She felt her feet leave the ground as he straightened up. With a happy sigh, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him back, burying her face in his neck to stifle the semi-hysterical giggles of relief coming from her mouth.

There was a cough from the doorway.

His first instinct was to push her away from him, to avoid starting rumors, and he nearly dropped her before he realized how dumb that would be. Instead, he bent over slightly until her feet were back on the floor, the whole time looking over her shoulder at the amused face of his captain. "Uh, sir . . ." he managed, clearing his throat.

Alex's head popped up at the word _sir _and she tried desperately to stop laughing, but all she could manage was to put a hand over her mouth to smother the sounds while she stared at Deakins with wide eyes. "Uh . . ." She closed her eyes and tried again to swallow her giggles. This time, she was able to regain some control of her breathing and therefore her laughter. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Is this a private party?" Deakins asked lightly, carrying his own coffee mug into the room. "Or can I come in?"

"Sorry," Bobby said, echoing his partner as he motioned for Deakins to come in.

Alex, having reduced her giggles to muffled hiccups, grinned at their boss. "You just missed a watershed moment, Captain."

Deakins backed up a step and looked at the pair suspiciously, "Is this one of those things I don't want to know about, Eames?"

She shook her head as she burst out laughing again.

"She's a little giddy right now," Bobby explained, keeping his eyes on her. "I cornered her, and she shoved me out of the way."

Deakins blinked. "She what?" A second later, the significance of that action hit him and he gaped at her. "You didn't have a panic attack?"

"Nope."

"You're kidding me."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I really didn't. But you better keep your distance, because I have no idea if it only works with Bobby or if I can break out of it with anyone."

Deakins drew an invisible line on the floor between them. "Understood, Detective. You realize that this means you can go back on the street soon?"

Surprised, she just looked at him. "No, actually. I, uh, haven't had enough time to think of stuff like that in the past, oh, thirty seconds."

"Funny, Alex," Deakins said with a roll of his eyes. "But I'm serious. This . . . this is _really _good news! You have no idea how glad I am to hear that we're going to get you back!"

Alex grinned and turned to Bobby. "I think he might be more excited about this than we are."

"Possibly. But just think of what Laura's going to say," he replied.

"Oh, man." She shook her head in cheerful disbelief. "The hoarde is going to descend on us when they hear about this and we're _never _going to be able to get rid of them!"

"Uh, the hoarde?" Deakins asked dubiously. "Do I want to know?"

"Her family," Bobby explained absently, still focused on her and his thoughts.

Deakins blinked. "You know her brother's girlfriend _and _you knowher pet name for her family? No, wait," he added, holding up his hand to ward off their attempts at an answer. "Don't answer that. It probably falls under the category of 'I don't want to know.' I'm getting out of here before I slip and ask more questions. Say hi to your father for me, Eames."

"Uh, sure." She watched, amused, as her boss fled the room, then turned back to her partner. "Bet you anything my dad shows up at the door the second the news gets to him."

Bobby sighed and nodded. "I'll start sleeping with my clothes on."


	42. Relapse

A/N: I feel the end coming on for this story. Not sure how many chapters it will take, but I have the finalscene in my head just waiting to be written. So for now,let's just say Kamikaze will probably end "soonish." 

_

* * *

About a week later . . ._

Gasping for breath, Alex stared at the man in front of her. The glass she had been holding slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor, shattering explosively, and the sound frightened her even more as it reverberated through her parents' kitchen.

The man jumped back with a gasp if surprise. "Alex!"

The sound of breaking glass brought Molly Eames running to the kitchen, her motherly intuition telling her that something was wrong. "Alex? Rob? Is everything . . ." she began worriedly as she skidded to a stop on the threshold of the room. Her voice trailed off as she studied the wide eyes of her daughter; obviously everything was _not '_ok.' Neither of her children responded to her words; Alex appeared to be frozen in fear, while Rob had wary eyes fixed on her as he tried to avoid doing anything she would react to.

"Robert," she said in the same quiet, tightly controlled I'm-In-Charge-Now-So-Nobody-Panic voice she'd used when he'd fallen out of a tree and broken his leg as a child, "move away from her. Slowly."

Rob, who was nearly as scared as his sister was by her violent reaction, obeyed the authoritative tone in his mother's voice and slowly took a large step back. "I didn't realize . . ."

"I know you didn't," she told him gently as she began to move toward her daughter. Keeping her eyes on Alex, she said to Rob in the same comforting tone, "Why don't you go find Bobby for me, ok honey?"

Rob nodded shortly and fled the room before he could traumatize his little sister any more than he already had. He had no idea where her partner had wandered off to since they'd arrived at the house earlier in the afternoon, but he knew Alex well enough to know that Bobby was probably the only person besides their mother that she'd accept comfort from. Therefore, he'd hunt the guy down, no matter where he was hiding.

The living room was empty except for George the wolfhound, who raised his head off the couch long enough to look at Rob curiously before returning to his blessedly child-free nap, and his brother John, who didn't wake up from his nap at all. Alex and Beth's old bedroom contained what looked like three sleeping children - it was hard to tell with the lights out - curled up in a pile on one of the beds, and he figured he was probably looking at the twins and Ashley. No Bobby, though.

The other bedrooms were empty, as was the bathroom, leaving only a few other places on the property that Bobby could be. He decided to try the garage next, knowing that, at the very least, Kate and his father were likely to be there. Maybe they could point him in the right direction.

The garage, though its door to the driveway was open, appeared empty at first glance. Then a voice from under the Mustang he was standing next to called, "You need to clean your boots, Rob. They're a mess."

"Kate, get out here."

Her head popped out from under the car as she used the wheeled board she was lying on to push herself to his side of the car. "What's up? Everything ok?"

"Do you know where Goren is?"

"Bobby? Why are you looking for him?" she asked, wondering why he'd pulled her out from under the car to ask her that.

"Never mind that," he said, shaking his head. "I just need to find him."

"Last time I saw him," John said as his head appeared next to his daughter's, "he was headed downstairs with a couple of the others. That was maybe . . . half an hour ago? Try the computer room."

"Ok, thanks." Rob darted back into the house and shut the door, leaving two very intrigued family members behind him.

He heard voices as he got to the top of the stairs that led to the finished basement, and he quickly descended them, following the voices down a short hallway and into a large-ish room that housed four computers in various states of usability. "Hey, Bobby!" he said when he finally spotted the taller man, who had Nathan balanced in one arm as he leaned over Samantha's shoulder, watching her point to something on the computer screen.

Bobby looked up, startled at hearing his name called. "Yes?"

"Come here for a sec," Rob requested politely, not wanting to alert the rest of the family to his problem and have them follow him upstairs.

Looking puzzled, Bobby straightened up, adjusted the toddler against his side, and walked over to where Rob was standing. "You need me for something?"

"You'd better give the baby to someone else," Rob said.

After giving Rob a probing look, Bobby passed Nathan to Beth, then moved back to Rob, now looking more alarmed than curious. "What's going on? Is something wrong with Alex?"

Rob gave the room a quick look, making sure no one was watching the conversation too closely, then nodded. "I mean, she's not hurt or anything," he added hastily, anticipating the other man's reaction. "She just . . . needs you."

"Panic attack?" asked Bobby as they headed for the stairs, hoping he was interpreting Rob's words wrong.

"Uh, yeah." He sighed. "My fault. I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to." Bobby waited as Rob opened the basement door, trying not to knock the other man down in his haste. "Where is she?"

"Kitchen." He let out a sigh of relief and headed for the living room as Bobby walked toward the kitchen. He'd found her partner, and now he needed to catch his breath for a minute before going back into the kitchen.

Bobby entered the kitchen cautiously, not sure what he was going to find.

What he found, it turned out, was two women sitting at the kitchen table, one watching the other with concern. He could see that there were tears on Molly's face, but he couldn't see Alex's face at all; she had her head in her hands. "Alex?" he asked softly as he walked into the room.

Alex's only response was a sniffle, but Molly looked up at him, then jumped to her feet, feeling foolish for crying over her daughter's tears. "I, uh . . ." she told Bobby quietly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as she approached him. "She's out of the . . . I mean, she's not scared anymore, but she's, well . . ." She gestured to the woman at the table, who still hadn't moved. "Disappointed, I guess you could say. I'll, uh, leave you guys alone . . . do you know where Rob went?"

"No, sorry," he said, a little more curtly than he intended, as he brushed past Molly and pulled out a chair at the table. A second later, he heard her retreating footsteps as she went in search of her son. "Alex?"

She shook her head but didn't raise it to look at him. "I thought it was over," she whispered into her hands, more to herself than to him.

He wasn't quite sure what to say to that since he, too, had thought the panic attacks had been conquered. "What happened?" he asked, leaning forward and trying to get a glimpse of her face.

"Same as usual," she said, frustrated. "He wasn't paying attention and he got too close, too fast."

He slid a comforting hand across her back, letting it come to rest on the nape of her neck. "How do you feel?"

"Physically? Just fine," she said, freeing one hand to show him that it was steady. "Mentally . . . I would really, really like to kick the shit out of Steven Brewer."

He smiled slightly and gently kneaded the muscle under his hand. "That sounds healthy to me. Now, would you take you hands away from your face?"

She sighed and obediently dropped her hands, looking at him with red eyes and tearstained cheeks. "I'm just . . . I'm so fucking _angry_!" she ground out. "After everything . . . we've worked so hard . . . how dare they just . . . just _come back_?"

Angry Alex was infinitely preferable to Listless Alex, in his opinion. "It's just one time, Alex. You know . . . think how long its been since you had one at all, and then try to tell me your work hasn't helped," he challenged.

He knew she couldn't argue with the truth of that, so when she just shook her head and sighed in answer, he nodded. "Everyone's entitled to a relapse or two on the way to getting better."

"I know, but it's just . . . argh!"

He grinned at that. "You're perfectly steady now, only a few minutes after it happened. That's pretty impressive, considering how it caught you by surprise. How long did it last this time? Not as long, right?"

"I don't know . . . maybe a minute?"

He moved his hand farther across her back until he was cupping her shoulder. "This is _fine, _Alex," he told her, using his grip on her shoulder to pull her around to face him. "This is normal."

"You keep saying that," she protested, turning her entire body in her chair so that her knees were facing his side. "But what you mean is that it's 'normal' for people having panic attacks. I don't _want _to be that kind of normal! I want to be back to plain old no-panic-attacks normal!"

He applied gentle pressure to her back, urging her toward him until her head was on his shoulder and he was giving her a one-armed hug. "You will be. Just give it a little more time."

She snorted and said with a weak smile, "I want to go back to don't-have-_time_-for-anything normal, too."

He laughed. "You'll be there the second Deakins puts you back on the street, and then you'll wish you had more time on your hands."

"Yeah, probably," she agreed, tipping her head and pulling his chin down to give him a light, fleeting kiss of thanks. "My mom's going to think you walk on water now."

"You mean she didn't already think that?" he teased, trying to look appalled.

"Well, you know, only -"

"One frustrated two-year-old, special delivery," Laura announced as she walked into the room, a squalling Nathan in her arms, and headed for where Alex was sitting. "I'm -" She broke off, noticing both their position and Alex's face, and read the situation in seconds. "Sorry, guys. I didn't know you were . . . never mind about the baby. I'll give him to Sean."

"No," Alex said, grabbing her arm to stop her. "It's fine. I'll take him."

"You sure? You look a little . . . busy."

"Just talking," Alex replied, standing up and carefully taking the child into her arms. "Wow, when did you get so fat, Nate?"

Laura chuckled. "If you're sure you're ok with him, I'll leave you to it."

"Just fine," she said without looking up from her nephew's face.

"Oh, and if your arms get tired," Laura added on her way out of the room, "Bobby was doing really good with him downstairs, so make him pitch in."

"Uh, ok." She looked at him with raised eyebrows when Laura was gone. "You were holding him?"

Bobby ducked his head self-consciously. "Well, yeah. I think he just likes touching . . . you know, my stubble," he said, rubbing his chin.

"Well, glory be!" Alex announced with a grin as Nathan, as if to prove Bobby's point, reached out for his chin and giggled. "Finally, that useless razor you shave with has come in handy for something!"

He shrugged, leaning forward so Nathan could reach him. "I think that calming down crying babies would be an off-label use for it. Better be careful the FDA doesn't get wind of it."

She gave him a wry look and handed him the baby. "Anyone ever tell you you're weird, Goren?"

"Once or twice," he replied, barely avoiding getting a chubby two-year-old hand stuck in his mouth when he opened it. "By some woman who lets me live in her apartment, most of the time."

Alex just smirked and returned her attention to Nathan.


	43. The unhappy choice

"Let me guess," Laura said immediately after picking up the phone when Alex called her the next evening. "You're impatient and angry with yourself for letting it happen again. Oh, and by the way, hi."

Alex adjusted the phone's handset, sat down on the couch, and sighed. "Hi. And yes, you pretty much nailed it. And no, I don't need to be told that it's irrational. And yes, I already got the 'it's a normal phase of recovery' speech from Bobby."

There was a pause. "Well," Laura finally said, "I guess you've got it about covered. So what are you going to do?"

"Do?" She thought about that for a second. "Just try to stick it out, I guess. It's not like there are many other options."

"Good girl."

"You're going way too easy on me, Laura," Alex said suspiciously when Laura didn't add to her short response. "I detect an ulterior motive for this call."

Laura laughed nervously. "Well, I guess there kind of is."

"Whatever it is, my dad better not have put you up to it!" She'd had just about enough of her father's under-the-table attempts to help her. She knew he meant well and was trying to keep from worrying her, but every time he tried something, it backfired royally.

"Nope," Laura said cheerfully. "Actually, this one's direct from the women of the clan."

"I don't think that's going to be much better." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and stretched out on the couch. "Ok, you might as well go ahead and give it to me."

"Ok. Well, it's just, you know, last night . . . you and Bobby, uh . . ." Try as she might, Laura couldn't come up with a way to phrase it that didn't sound offensive, or gossipy, or both.

"Me and Bobby what?" Alex prompted. "I thought you guys already knew that he's the only one I feel safe with when I panic."

"We do. That's not really what this about."

"Not really . . ." Alex repeated blankly. Then it occurred to her. "If you're calling to ask me about what's going on between me and him, you've wasted your dime."

"Um, well, it's not _exactly _that." Actually, it was, but she was trying desperately to think of a way to pose the question without letting on that that was what she meant.

Alex groaned. "Laura, come on. You, of all people, should know to stay off my back about us!"

"I'm not calling to lecture you," Laura insisted. "I'm just calling to . . . talk about it."

" 'Talk about it'?" Alex echoed. "What's there to talk about, if you're not going to lecture me?"

Laura sighed. "There's the part where you're starting to become really obvious about it, for one thing, and it's only a matter of time until your dad figures out for sure that you care about each other a lot more than plain old partners should."

"Obvious about what?" Alex said, trying to sound confused.

"Come on, Alex. You guys didn't even try last night. I mean, Bobby hanging out downstairs with the kids instead of sticking to you like glue? Your mom having to send Rob to find him? Don't you think that makes it a little obvious that he's not following you around just out of concern anymore?"

"Ok, look," Alex said stiffly. "We're just . . ."

"Dating," Laura finished for her. "To put it politely."

"I am _not _telling you about my -"

"I'm not asking you to," Laura assured her hastily. "I'm just saying maybe you guys should decide whether you're just partners or whether you're a couple. Or at least decide which to act like around other people."

"It's . . . more complicated than that," Alex sighed, not happy with having this topic brought to her attention.

"It always is, until you boil it down," Laura replied. "Then you usually find that it comes down to something pretty simple."

"I'm not staying on the phone for a lecture about sex, Laura."

"I was referring," Laura replied, obviously amused by her sister-in-law's assumption, "to the matter of whether each of you is happy with the other."

"Ok, look," Alex said, trying to control her temper and not just slam down the phone. "You've been married for a long time. I assume it's been quite a while since you had to do the 'Are we or aren't we' dance, but believe me: the rules are _not _that simple."

Laura snorted. "You're making excuses. You know it and I know it, and maybe -"

Alex tuned Laura's voice out as Bobby appeared from the bedroom, holding her open cell phone and looking worried. When he saw that she was on the apartment phone, he whispered her name and held the phone out toward her.

"Uh, Laura," Alex said, awkwardly adjusting the phone in her hand, "I have to go. Bobby's telling me I have a call on my cell, and it looks important."

"Ok. But Alex . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Think about what I said."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, right. Talk to you later." She hung up the phone and turned to Bobby. "What's up?"

He held out the phone again. "It's Deakins. Said he'll only talk to _you_ about why he's calling."

He was obviously displeased by being kept out of the loop, and she patted his cheek as she took the phone from him. "Don't worry; you know you'll probably get it out of me as soon as I hang up."

When he just sighed and wandered toward the kitchen, she put the phone to her ear. "Yes, Captain?"

"Eames. Uh, hi. I'm sorry for calling at night, but . . ."

"You're apologizing," she noted. "That usually means I'm about to get bad news."

"Well it's . . ." He paused, then said, "Is Goren in the room with you?"

"Huh?" She looked up and spotted him sitting in a kitchen chair, staring at the wall and trying to pretend he wasn't listening to her side of the conversation. "He's in the kitchen. Why?"

"Can he hear you?"

She blinked. "Uh, I guess. Why?" she said again.

"I want you to go in another room. Somewhere where he'll have a hard time eavesdropping."

"Captain," she said tentatively, "I don't think -"

"Just doit, Alex!"

Deakins didn't often raise his voice. She could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd done it to her. Something was obviously _very _wrong. "Ok, ok, fine," she said as she inched toward the bedroom, trying not to catch Bobby's attention as she moved. "There," she said, gently shutting the door behind her. "I'm behind a closed door. Now what the hell's going on?"

"I . . . sorry about that." She could almost see him rubbing his forehead and looking rueful as he spoke. "This just isn't a question I want to ask, and it's definitely not one Goren wants to hear."

She sat down on the bed. "Ok, sir. I understand, but . . . will you please just tell me what the problem is?"

"Steven Brewer killed ten children, Alex."

"Huh? No, he didn't. There were nine -"

"No," he interrupted pointedly. "There . . . there were ten."

"Captain, if you don't tell me what the hell you're talking about, I swear to god I'm hanging up this phone."

"He confessed to killing one more kid, Alex."

"That's . . ." She paused, confused. "Isn't that good news, if he confessed?"

"Theoretically, yes, but the thing is, his trial is in a week and he's playing games."

"What kind of games?" she asked cautiously.

"Mind games. He won't give up the kid's identity or where the body is unless we meet his conditions. Look, Eames . . ." he attempted gently.

Now she was the one rubbing her forehead as she got a sneaking feeling that she knew what her boss was talking about. "And what are his conditions?" she asked quietly, not really wanting to know.

"He . . ." Deakins sighed. "Damn it, I hate having to do this to you, but . . . he says the only person he'll give the specifics to is you."

She felt a tide of panic rush through her, then recede. "Me?" she repeated weakly.

"Yes. Now do you see why I didn't want Goren in the room for this?"

"Yeah . . . yeah, I do. He wouldn't want to let me even consider it."

"That's what I thought, too. Ok look, here's the thing: it's possible this is just a power play on Brewer's part. He's not on death row, at least yet, and there's no reason we can't keep sending in other interrogators to work the information out of him. I don't want to make you do this, but . . ."

Alex scrubbed a hand down her face. "But if I say no, we can't be sure that he won't go and clam up until after the trial. And if he waits until then . . ."

"The prosecutors probably won't bother with a tenth charge if he's already gotten death for the first nine," Deakins finished. "And then he won't have any incentive at all to tell us, and some kid out there is going to stay lost forever."

"God," she managed, shuddering at the thought of two parents who might never know what happened to their child. Could she leave them to that, knowing that she could have helped but was too frightened to?

"Alex," he said gently, correctly guessing her train of thought. "Right now, _your _well-being is my main concern, ok? I'm not sending you in there if it's going to . . . hurt your recovery, no matter how guilty it might make either of us feel. Do you understand me? You do _not _have to do this if you don't feel ready."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You know I'm not going to refuse. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try to get the information out of him."

"Eames -"

"When do you want me to do it?"

"It has to be before the end of this week. But wait a second, Alex. Brewer might have _his_ conditions, but I have conditions too."

"Conditions?" she echoed. "Like what?"

"Like Goren and at least one guard are going to be in that room with you at all times, first of all. And I want a doctor there standing by."

"Captain," she said indignantly, "believe me, once was enough; I'm not going to let him get to me again. I don't need a doctor to be there."

"Just . . . just humor me, ok? For once, would one of you guys just _please_ do what I say?" he snapped. "You don't want to play by my rules, Eames? Then you don't go in, it's as simple as that. I don't care about how it will look to people."

He was right and she knew it, as much as she didn't want to admit it. Alex tried to swallow the lump that was rising in her throat. "What the hell am I supposed to tell Bobby? He's never going to go for this."

"That, I'm leaving up to you. He's a lot more likely to listen to you than me. Just . . . present it to him as a done deal or something."

"Yeah," she snorted, " 'or something' is right. It's not going to matter how I present it."

"Well," Deakins said cautiously, "as much as I don't want to play dirty . . . _I'm _the one who authorizes or doesn't authorize it. He's your partner, but he doesn't get to make your choices for you. If you have to, remind him of that."

Alex grimaced at the thought of having to throw something like that in his face. God, that would hurt - for both of them.

"Eames?" Deakins said when her silence had stretched to ten seconds. "You still there?"

"What? Yeah. Just trying to think of a way to keep things from getting worse," she sighed.

"Alex," he said, sounding subdued, "I'mtruly sorry for putting this on you. I know how much you probably don't want to see the guy ever again. Anything I can do for you to make it easier . . . you just tell me, ok?"

"Yes. Thank you, sir."

"Ok. I'll call you when I have a date and time for the . . . uh, interview."

"Wonderful," she muttered with tired sarcasm. "Good night."

"Night, Eames."

She closed her phone and just stared at it lying in her hand for a few seconds. Who knew such an innocuous little object could convey such bad news?

A knock sounded on the door. "Alex?" Bobby called through it. "Are you ok?"

With a sigh, she stood up, tried to compose herself, and then opened the door. "I'm fine."

He dropped the hand he had been knocking with and studied her face. "No, you're not. What did he want to talk to you about?" he demanded.

She clasped her hands together behind her back and wrung them nervously. _Better to rip the bandage off quickly and get it done with_. If only that thought actually made her feel better! "Brewer had a tenth victim," she finally said quietly. "But he won't give up any more information than that unless it's to me. He . . . Deakins wanted to know if I would be willing to go in and talk to him so we can find the body, wherever he disposed of it."

Goren just stared at her in utter disbelief.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, you guys can see where this is going. But how will Alex handle facing her worst fear, and what will Bobby have to say about it? 


	44. Countdown

A/N: A short chapter, but it's just set up for the big event, anyway

* * *

Alex looked around at the drab gray prison walls surrounding her and suppressed a shudder at the thought of how cold that stone must be.

"Alexandra?"

She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts, and focused her eyes back on her captain, who had just spoken her name and was now watching her with obvious concern. "Alex," he said again, "are you listening to me?"

He was afraid for her, both physically and mentally, she knew. _Well good, _she decided, _that makes three of us. _Out of Deakins, Goren, and herself, Alex was pretty sure she was taking the imminent confrontation with Steven Brewer the most in stride, at least on the surface. For the past three days, Alex had managed to be very convincing to other people when she assured them that Brewer posed no physical threat to her, and she had dealt with the psychological threat. Purposely avoiding letting her family hear what she was going to do, she'd managed to convince almost everyone else with her show of confidence, but the ones who mattered most refused to believe her pat explanations.

Deakins had reverted to treating her the same way he had during the first weeks of her recovery. As if he were afraid he might break her, he had refused to let her perform any tasks he considered too dangerous - tasks which ranged from working on a cop-killer case to carrying a heavy stack of files across the room. She'd tolerated it this time, knowing that it made him feel better and, one way or another, it would be over in a few more days.

Bobby, on the other hand, had hardly spoken to her in the days since Deakins's phone call, except to try to talk her out of doing the interview. He'd tried reason - _there are better interrogators than you, and obviously Brewer's itching to tell someone; why believe that you're really the only one he'll speak to? - _cajolery _- Alex, honey, please! You don't have to do this, and no one's going to think less of you if you refuse_! - and finally, an icy cold, no-holds-barred act that told her he was beginning to understand how set on this course of action she was. The last was what hurt the most, as he had known it would:

_You think we're going to be able to help you this time, Eames? _he'd hissed only a few minutes ago. _You think he's not going to be able to smell your fear when you sit down across from him? _When she'd just continued to look at him stonily, he'd grabbed her shoulders and bent down until his face was only an inch from hers. _Damn it, Alex, you're not ready for something like this! All he wants is to play with you, and you're going to come out of there wishing you'd never gone in!_

She hadn't been able to vocalize her answer to that, but she thought the glare she'd given him had communicated her feelings well enough. She wasn't going to put her own irrational fears above the very rational pain and terror the parents of Brewer's tenth victim must be feeling; that would be about as far from "Protect and Serve" as she could get, and she simply refused to be that selfish.

And if she came out of the room with a few more scars than she'd gone in with, she'd know it was because she'd tried everything she could to help those people. And maybe then she'd be able to sleep at night.

A hand cupped her cheek and Bobby's voice said her name, startling her out of her memories. She flinched at the contact, then ground her teeth in annoyance at her reaction. "What?" she finally managed to snap at him.

"Come here." Rather than being sharp, as it had been for most of the past few days, his voice now was gentle, and she didn't resist as he put a hand between her shoulder blades and led her to the other side of the room.

When he was careful to put his own back to the wall, leaving her a clear escape route, she knew she was about to hear his last-ditch effort to convince her not to go in. "Bobby," she said before he could get the words out, "you can't talk me out of this, ok? It's . . . I have to do it."

"I know," he said quietly, surprising her with his words even as he took her hand and pulled her a little closer to him. "You're going to do this no matter what any of us say . . . I realize that. But if you're going to do it," he added, "neither of us is going into that room until I clear up the . . . the lies I've told you."

"You don't have to . . . I mean I know you've just been trying to . . ."

"Just listen, ok?"

She paused for a second, then nodded.

"I've been saying everything I can think of to keep you from doing this. I was - am - desperate, and I lied. A lot. You're _good_, Alex. You know it and I know it, no matter what I pretended to think, ok? If he's got the information, you're going to get it out of him."

"Bobby -"

"Quiet," he commanded, holding up a hand to stop her protest. "And I understand why you think you need to do this. I don't _like _it, and I don't _want _to understand it, but . . . I do." He paused to lower his hand and swallow nervously. "And . . . and the biggest thing . . . I think you're ready for him. I'm terrified that I'm wrong, but that really is what I think."

"Look, Bobby -"

"I don't know how much my vote of confidence even matters to you anymore, but I just had to tell you that."

She stared at him for a few seconds, letting his words filter through her brain and disperse through her body, and suddenly her heart wasn't pounding quite so hard. Wanting to show him just how much his vote _did _matter to her, she slid her arms around his waist and rested her head over his heart. His galloping heartbeat told her that he was as apprehensive over this interview as she was, but as he responded to her hug by putting his arms around her and resting his cheek on top of her head, she thought his pulse got a little slower, too.

They stood there, each trying to infuse the other with their strength, until the sound of a throat clearing made them jump apart.

They expected to find a censorious look on their captain's face, but instead, he had his head pointedly turned away from them. "If that helps you guys, then I haven't seen anything," he announced before slowly turning back to face them. "And I'm sorry to break it up. But . . . it's time. Brewer just got moved into the interview room."

Alex swallowed.

Next to her, Bobby reached out and gave her hand a quick, hard squeeze before dropping it again. "Ready?"

Concentrating hard on keeping her breathing even and her hands steady, she nodded.


	45. The moment of truth

A/N: Hmm. I hope this confrontation is as good as you all hoped it would be. Originally this was going to be the last chapter, but as you'll see, I've got do at least one more to resolve what happens in this chapter. So probably the next chapter will be the last, unless things get weird again.

* * *

"Alex," Deakins said, gesturing to the three guards who stood outside the room that held Steven Brewer, "these are Officers Williams, Hashek, and Collier. Hashek will be inside with you and Bobby; Williams, Collier, and I will be right outside the door. Ok?" 

She nodded politely to the three men. "Hi. Thanks for . . . helping out on this."

The guards exchanged a look, then Hashek, a burly man who looked to be the senior officer, stepped forward to shake her hand. "Detective. Uh, we just wanted to tell you . . . we heard what he did to you, and we're not going to let anything like that happen here."

"Yeah," said Williams, "and also that if . . . you know, if it should be necessary for you to defend yourself in there . . . we'll back you up afterwards."

They were informing her that there would be no questions if Brewer left the room with a few more bumps and bruises than he'd gone in with, and although she knew she wouldn't take advantage of that leeway, she recognized the gesture of support. Sometimes the Blue Wall wasn't entirely a bad thing. "Thank you," she said with a businesslike nod. "Is he . . . ready?"

Hashek nodded. "Wrists and ankles cuffed and chained," he told her as he began to open the door. "He'll have a hard time giving you any trouble."

Alex just nodded and allowed Hashek and Goren to precede her into the room

She heard Brewer's voice before she could see him. "The fuck? I told you I wanted the girl detective!" he bellowed at Hashek.

She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to force back all her memories as she dropped into the calm interrogation mode that her years of experience had helped her develop. "And you got her," she informed Brewer calmly, stepping out from behind her partner and taking a seat across the table from the prisoner. "So talk."

Brewer smirked. "Looking kinda stiff there, Detective. You sure you can handle me?"

A predatory smile stole over her lips. She might be ambivalent about the death penalty in most cases, but she was going to enjoy watching them stick the needle in this guy's arm. "You seem to be at a bit of a disadvantage, Steven," she pointed out, gesturing to his tightly chained arms and legs. "Hard to even throw a table when you can't move your hands more than an inch." As if to demonstrate, she used the tips of her fingers to lift the edge of the table, which turned out to be light enough for her to easily move. She stored that knowledge away for later.

Her comment hit its mark and he jerked angrily on the chains holding his wrists. "Bitch!"

She jumped involuntarily at the sound, then quickly, without moving from her chair, held out a hand behind her to stop the advance she knew Bobby was making. "Now, is that any way to speak to an invited guest?" she chided the prisoner. "You wanted me here to hear your confession; you got your wish. So start talking."

"You wanna hear about number ten?" he said with a sneer, leaning toward her. "What'll you give me in return?"

She blinked, surprised by his gall. "Oh, you want to bargain, Steve? Is that because you want to keep me here as long as possible? Maybe you're desperate to see a woman, since I hear all you've got in lockdown is your hand. Is that it?"

"I'm bored," he said sullenly. "You're here to entertain me."

Deliberately doing what she knew would frustrate him the most, Alex burst out laughing. "Oh man, you _are _pathetic. You don't have shit to tell me, do you? You just wanted a change of scenery."

"I do too have -"

"Officer Hashek," Alex said, waving the guard forward, "I think the prisoner's run out of interesting things to talk about. Why don't you take him back to his nice warm cell in solitary."

"Oh, I got shit to tell you!" Brewer announced, trying to pull away when Hashek reached for him. "I got plenty to tell you. I got his name, I got what he looked like . . . I got exactly what sounds he made as I -"

"That's enough," Alex rapped out. "Either you give me the details - _now _- or your ass is getting thrown back in your cell."

"You got no sense of humor, lady," he accused.

"Yeah, that's what they all say," she replied, unmoved. "You've got thirty seconds to give me the kid's name before I kick you back to the guards."

"Rory," Brewer snapped resentfully.

"Thank you," Alex said primly, jotting the name down in her notepad. "Last name and where you abducted him?"

"How close did I come to killing you, Detective?" Brewer said instead of answering her question. "You were bleedin' pretty bad when your guard dog over there jumped me."

She followed Brewer's eyes over her shoulder to where her "guard dog" partner stood, smiling dangerously. Meeting Bobby's eyes, she gave him a look she hoped he could read, one meant to reassure him that she was fine. Then, turning back to Brewer, she said lightly, "Him? Oh, he over-reacted. It wasn't that bad at all. You know, head wounds bleed like nobody's business no matter how small they are."

"You're a fuckin' liar. I read the newspaper articles, I was at the bail hearing! I almost killed you!"

Steeling herself against the memories, Alex just shrugged. "If you knew, why'd you ask? You're wasting my time again, Steven, and I don't like that. Tell me Rory's last name."

"Starts with an M or somethin', I think."

Alex leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, watching him as she demanded, "Give me the _full _last name."

Brewer's eyes flicked to her crossed arms, then back to her face. "Hey, you got a nice rack there," he said, leering at her chest. "Too bad you and I weren't alone last time, eh?"

She knew she wouldn't be able to suppress the reaction that ran through her at that, so she played it up and made a show of shuddering delicately. "I'd rather have had you kill me, thanks. Too bad you didn't get to do either, huh Steve?"

"There's still time," he told her threateningly, leaning across the table as if he could reach her that way.

"Hey, if you're that desperate to get laid, we can always toss you back in the general population," Hashek spoke up gleefully. "I'm sure those boys'd love a baby killer like you."

"Fuck off," Brewer growled at the guard, not drawing back from Alex.

She didn't pull back, either, and as she heard Goren move up toward the table, she hoped he'd let her do this her way. "You disgust me, Steven," she said conversationally. "And I don't like disgusting people. Neither do juries, actually." Finally sitting back but keeping her movements casual, she shrugged. "They tend to like little blonde detectives who were almost killed in the line of duty a lot more than they like disgusting child-killers, my friend, and you know I can always add a little something to my testimony to make things worse for you."

"Hah," Brewer snorted, sounding slightly doubtful in spite of himself. "You ain't gonna lie on the stand, Miss Squeaky Clean Detective."

"I'd be quite happy to do it for her, if she doesn't want to," Goren spoke up calmly from beside her. "So I suggest you take what she's telling you seriously."

"Give me the information about Rory, Steven," Alex said after giving Brewer a second to absorb her partner's words.

He mumbled a string of curses, then looked up, glaring at her. "Marsh, ok? His name was Rory Marsh. Happy now, bitch?"

"Keep talking."

"You having any trouble sleeping?" Brewer asked instead of continuing with the information about his victim. "I read a book that says people like you have nightmares and get scared of people after they get roughed up."

"I sleep just fine, thanks," she said with a tight smile, lowering her hands beneath the table to rest them on her lap where no one could see them tremble. "And I certainly don't appear to be scared of any of the people in this room, do I?"

"Not even 'big boy' over there?" he asked, jerking his head toward Goren. "He looks like he likes to play rough. You ain't scared he's gonna lose his temper on you?"

She bit her tongue, hard, and tried to compose herself. A few seconds later, she realized that Bobby hadn't moved or spoken in response to Brewer's insult. He was demonstrating her his confidence in her by allowing her to deal with this herself.

"No," she told Brewer when she was sure she could open her mouth without screaming or crying, "I'm not scared of him. He has this thing about not hurting people who haven't done anything to him, you see, which is a helluva lot more than I can say for you." Without pausing to signal a subject change, she went on, "Where did you take Rory Marsh from?"

"Oh, he was a rich little brat. Some town in Jersey . . . I can't quite remember where," Brewer lied with a smirk.

"You know," she told him sharply, "for someone who _wanted_ to talk to me, you fucking suck at answering questions. Tell me where you got him. _Now_, before I lose patience with your bullshit."

"Geez, don't blow your fuckin' top. I grabbed him in Fort Lee."

"And you killed him . . . where?"

"Aw, Detective, you think I'd admit to killing him in some other jurisdiction and deny myself the pleasure of talking to you again? I'm wounded."

"You're sure as hell _going _to be wounded if you don't answer my question," she snapped, hoping her temper would outlast his supply of jibes.

"You ain't got no sense of humor."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before, too. Along with everything else wrong with you, apparently you're incapable of being original. Where did you kill Rory Marsh?"

He grinned at her, a sight almost as disturbing as his leers and sneers. "It's like a riddle, Detective. Where do you think I killed a kid named Rory _Marsh _who was from _Jersey_?"

"The Meadowlands," she blurted as the pieces snapped into place. Unfortunately, the protected marshy area she'd just named ate up a huge chunk of northeastern New Jersey, and without a more detailed location, they might never find the child's body. "_Where_ in the Meadowlands?"

"Don't you want to know how I killed him?" Brewer asked almost teasingly. "That's half the fun!"

Without warning, she slammed her hand down on the table right in front of him, taking pleasure when he jumped. "There's nothing 'fun' about this, Brewer," she hissed. "After I leave here, I might never be able to have fun again because you are just _that_ damn repulsive! Do you understand me?"

The inmate blinked and, probably without realizing it, pulled away from her slightly. "I -"

"Good." She pulled her hand back and picked up her pen. "Now, you're going to tell me where -"

"Eames!"

Bobby's yell was all the warning she needed; she'd been ready for this since the moment she tested the weight of the table_. Act, Alex, remember that you have time to act_! she heard Laura's voice shout in her head.

As Brewer shot to his feet and attempted to lunge over the table, the only big movement he could make while chained, she smiled grimly and gave it a hard shove forward, catching him right in the midsection. There was a _woof _as all the air was knocked out of him, and then he was pinned between the table and the wall.

Goren, matching her hard smile, gave the table another shove, just for good measure. If he knew his partner - and he did - then she wasn't going to leave the room until she had the information she wanted, no matter what had just happened. "You want a hand with that?" he asked her quietly, allowing a hint of humor into his voice so she'd know he'd guessed her intentions.

"Yeah, please." She stepped back as he walked forward and wrapped a hand around Brewer's throat, using his grip to support the man's weight but not squeezing, as Alex dragged the table far enough back that she could get between it and the prisoner, who was now gasping as he tried to regain his breath.

"You're pathetic, Brewer," she told him, advancing another step as Hashek, belatedly figuring out what they were doing, immobilized the chain that held Brewer's arms together. "You can't even beat someone as small as me unless you have an unfair advantage. I'm surprised none of those kids got any good licks in before you murdered them."

"Make them let me go!" he managed in a hoarse voice, trying to see the two men holding him to the wall.

"Let you go?" She let out a harsh laugh. "That's not happening until you tell me where I can find Rory Marsh's body, my friend - and even then, you're only going as far as death row. So I suggest you tell me what I want to know, or my partner might get overzealous and start actually trying to strangle you, like you did to me."

"Route three," Brewer gasped, trying to kick out at his captors but unable to move his legs far enough. "East Rutherford. I . . . there's a walkway just to the side of the exit for the racetrack . . ."

As if on cue, the two men released their hold on him and stepped back, watching as the violent child killer crumpled into a heap at the feet of the detective he'd tried and failed to kill.

Alex, moving almost mechanically now, backed up and wrote down Brewer's words, slipped her notebook into her pocket, and walked out of the room through the door Collier had pulled open when he saw her coming. Only seconds after she crossed the threshold, the trembling she'd been desperately holding back during the interview began to overtake her.

Just as she was beginning to fear she might humiliate herself by collapsing, a voice said, "Whoa!" and a pair of arms went around her. Not caring how undignified it was, she fell into the arms of her captain and allowed him to support her weight.

"Eames," he said, leading her to a chair one of the guards has hastily fetched. "Come on, sit down."

When Bobby left the interview room a few seconds later, he found his partner curled over in her chair with her head tucked into her arms and her hands holding the back of her head, drawing in gasping breaths that he recognized as her attempt to avoid crying. Deakins was crouched at her feet, watching her with concern, but not knowing what to do to help her.

Deakins jumped to his feet when he saw Goren. "Finally! What took you so long?"

Wordlessly, Bobby looked back toward the interview room. Deakins followed his gaze, and a second later, they watched Hashek roughly lead out a wheezing Brewer, who bore a newly bloodied lip and a rapidly blackening eye. Noticing the scrutiny of the rest of the officers, Hashek smirked and offered them a shrug. "He tripped."

" 'Course he did," agreed Williams.

Deakins paused a second, then nodded. "Sounds about right to me. Good thing he was alone his cell when it happened."

"Damn good thing," Hashek said with a firm nod, motioning for his fellow guards to help him with the inmate. Together, the three men nodded a goodbye to the detectives and led the broken killer off into the depths of the prison.

"Is she ok?" Deakins whispered, pulling Goren away a few inches in the hope that she wouldn't hear the question.

Bobby looked down at Alex, then back up at Deakins. "I . . . I don't know. I think she will be, but . . . I need to get her out of here."

"Yeah," Deakins said, quickly nodding. "Yeah, good idea. Uh . . . can she . . ." He stopped, reminding himself that it would annoy her to hear him talk about her as if she weren't there, and rearranged his words: "Eames? Can you walk?"

There was a long second, and the men were preparing to take her silence as a "no" when she raised her head and, still hyperventilating, nodded. "But . . . I need help. I don't know if my knees . . ."

That was all she needed to say; within three seconds, each man had taken one of her arms. Bobby, having far more experience with supporting someone with broken ribs than Deakins, put his other arm around her hips so her arms and the muscles of her chest didn't have to support all her weight.

"What's the easiest way to do this?" Deakins asked when they had her on her feet.

In answer, Bobby wrapped his arm around Alex's as if she were a date he was escorting to a party. Deakins nodded his understanding and copied the action. "Ready, Eames?"

Alex, who was proud of having convinced herself to open her eyes, nodded and then slid her hand down Bobby's arm to hold his hand instead of just his forearm. "Yeah. Let's go."


	46. Aftermath

By the time they reached the parking lot, Alex had gotten her legs back under her enough that she could walk with just her partner's assistance. She was clutching at his hand for dear life . . . but at least she was supporting her own weight. "I'll be . . . fine," she assured Deakins, pausing in the middle of the sentence for a hiccuping breath. "Really."

He looked utterly unconvinced. "Eames, I know you're shaken up. Maybe we should -"

"No!" She abruptly stopped walking and glared at him, then shook her head emphatically. "No doctor, or whatever you were about to suggest. Just . . . no."

"You're not -" he began again, but broke off as Goren caught his eye above Eames's head. The younger man shook his head, telling him not to try again. He was tempted to argue the point - after all, for all her inner and outer strength, she was obviously very upset at the moment - but when he looked back at Goren, he reluctantly acknowledged defeat.

"_Trust me," _Bobby was mouthing at him.

He did trust the detective, and he knew Goren would take care of her. They didn't need him hanging around, he realized. Why would they? They couldn't talk openly with him there. Reluctantly, he nodded at Goren. "I'm parked over on the other side," he announced. "Alex, if you don't need my arm anymore, I'm going to head out."

She nodded, sniffled, and mumbled a "thank you."

"Come on," Bobby told her when Deakins had turned and walked away.

He was silent, communicating his concern by his hold on her hand, until they got in the car. He let go of it then and said, "Give me your phone, Alex."

"What?"

"Your phone," he repeated, tapping where the phone was outlined in the fabric of her pocket. "Give it to me."

She reached down to get it, then stopped. "Why?"

"Because I'm calling Laura, and I don't have her number in my phone," he informed her, taking matters into his own hands by reaching over and pulling the phone out of her pocket by the antenna. "So I need yours."

"But -" she managed to gasp, raising a hand in protest. "Why can't you just do whatever . . . needs to be done?" She shut her mouth then, noticing that the hand she'd raised was shaking visibly.

He put the phone down in his lap for the moment and leaned toward her, moving slowly. When she didn't pull away, he took her face gently in his hands and, forcing a teasing note into his voice to keep from worrying her, he said, "Because, Eames, as much as I might love you, I'm not trained for this. Anything I do would only be my best guess. Laura's got a lot more knowledge when it comes to helping people, and I want her in on this."

Most of the words went over her head, but she was glad for the physical contact. She nuzzled her face into his hand. "Oh."

"Can I call her now?" he asked, keeping the hand she was nuzzling on her face and dropping the other to reach for the phone.

Her response was a jerky breath and then a sigh.

He decided to take that as a yes, and opened the phone to search for the psychologist's number. Highlighting Laura's entryin her phonebook, he pressed _send _and put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" said a female voice after two rings.

"Laura?" he asked, glad that it was her and not Alex's brother who'd answered the phone.

"Yes. Who's this?" she said politely.

"Sorry," he said, reminding himself of his phone manners. "It's Goren. Are you . . . do you have a few minutes?"

"Alex?" she asked matter-of-factly, and before he even answered, he heard the phone being juggled.

She was probably donning reading glasses and reaching for her notes on Alex, he decided. He gave her a few seconds to do that, then said, "Yes, it's about her. We . . . have you talked to her in the past few days?"

"No," Alex spoke up from the passenger seat before Laura's answer came through the phone. "Didn't tell the . . . the family, remember?"

"No, I haven't," Laura said. "Is that her I hear in the background?"

He pulled his hand away from her face. "Yes. She, uh . . . she just finished interrogating Steven Brewer."

"Excuse me?" Laura's strangled gasp was audible even to Alex, who was a few feet away from the phone. "Not . . ."

"It was . . . an unpleasant situation," he tried to explain. "We needed information, and he refused to speak to anyone but her."

"Jesus Christ, Bobby, are you nuts?" Laura almost shouted into the phone. "You brought her to see that -"

"I didn't have a choice!" he shouted back, feeling his temper slip a notch at the suggestion that he'd failed to protect his partner. "She was determined to go in no matter what, and I didn't have the power to stop her!"

"Bobby," Alex said weakly from her seat, "please . . ."

"She . . . she . . . ok, wait." Laura said, trying to calm herself down before she screamed the poor guy off the phone. She knew as well as anyone else how protective Bobby was of Alex, and it was a fair guess that he'd done everything he could to try to prevent the interrogation. "Sorry I yelled. I'm just . . ."

"I know," he said shortly. "Anyway, she came through the interrogation itself with flying colors -"

"Ok. Ok, that's good," Laura broke in, nodding. "But I hear a 'but' coming on."

"She, uh . . ." He glanced over at Alex, trying to figure out how to label her condition. "In the grand scheme of things, her reaction wasn't too bad. Uh, tremors, mostly, and hyperventilation . . . but not a full-blown panic attack. I wanted to talk to you because I . . . this isn't something I've handled before, and -"

"She's too important to risk this being the time you get things wrong?" Laura finished for him. "I know the feeling. Happens every time I call the doctor because one of the twins has the sniffles. But anyway, let me see if I have this straight. She was in complete control while she was face-to-face with - what's his name? - Brewer?"

He couldn't suppress a smile at the memory of how she'd handled herself in that room. "More than that. She was in control of herself _and _him."

"And after she came out of the questioning - when he was gone - she reacted with distress, but not fear?"

"Yes."

"What's she like now?"

He glanced over at Alex, who was slumped in her seat with her chin on her chest, looking like she was trying to control her breathing. "She's better. The tremors are still there, but pretty much only in her hands. I think . . . I think she's got her breathing under control."

Hearing his words, Alex opened her eyes and nodded an affirmative, then took his free hand, squeezed it, and whispered, "Home?"

"Soon," he told her quietly, then returned his attention to the phone and Laura's answer.

"And she's talking, I assume, since I heard her answering questions in the background?"

"Yes, she's talking. A little too quietly, but that's the only problem."

"In that case," Laura said gently, "whatever you're doing, you're doing it right. Take her home. Give her tea or put her to bed if she wants, but don't force them on her. I think she just needs to get her brain around everything that happened. You said she did really good, questioning him?"

"_Really _good," he agreed stroking his thumb over the back of Alex's hand and relishing the small smile she gave him.

"Remind her of that if you need to. Often. Other than that . . ."

" What?" he prompted when she let her sentence trail off.

"It's probably too forward for me to put it in these words, but I was going to tell you to just make sure she knows you would love her no matter _what _hadhappened in that room. Probably not the best thing to tell you, though, considering that I don't presume to know anything about your relationship with her."

"No," Bobby said hesitantly, "you . . . that's pretty much the right interpretation. And I'll do the best I can with it."

"Good. I'll let you go now so you can get her home. Keep doing what you're doing, Bobby - whatever it is, it's worked wonders so far. I'll keep my phone on and charged in case you guys need me, ok?"

"Ok. Thank you, Laura," he said, regretting the fact that there was no way he could fully communicate his thanks for how much she had just set his mind at ease.

"Well?" Alex said when he closed the phone. "What has my own private psychology think-tank decided to do with me?"

"How do you feel?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Good enough to be annoyed that you and Laura just carried on that whole conversation about me without including me."

"Good." He tipped her chin up and kissed her. "Laura said to take you home and tell you to relax."

"That whole long conversation was all for her to tell you to make me relax?" she said skeptically.

Pulling back into his own seat, he started the car. "She had a lot of questions."

"No kidding." With that, Alex sighed and fell quiet, watching as they passed through the guardhouse and onto the highway.

* * *

"Bobby?" she said quietly that evening, turning over in bed to face him and suppressing a smile at the memories brought about by hearing the rustle of her clothing as she moved. By the time they'd made the two-hour drive home, they'd both been completely drained, and the only thing they'd bothered to take off before falling into bed was their shoes.

"Hmm?"

"You awake?"

"I am now."

"What else did Laura say to you?"

He turned onto his back and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. "Honestly, Alex, she didn't say much else. Mostly it was questions about what had happened and how you were acting."

"Oh," She was quiet for a few more seconds, and then: "Bobby?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you think I handled it well?"

"Which 'it' are you asking about?" he asked, opening his eyes. "The interrogation, or the aftermath?"

"Both, I guess," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "But the actual interrogation, especially."

He was silent for a few seconds, trying to compose his thoughts, and then he pulled her up to stretch out on top of him. "That interrogation," he said emphatically, taking her face in his hands and drawing it down so he could see her eyes up close, "was masterful. That's the only word for it."

"Masterful?" she repeated dubiously. "Why?"

He released her face and moved his arms down so he could link his hands in the small of her back. "First of all, you deliberately went into a situation that had gone wrong once before. You got startled a few times, but then, so did I. That resistance to fear was impressive in its own right. You presented your questions like the pro you are and you squeezed every bit of information we needed out of him."

"Ok," she cut in, "but that's not -"

"Shh," he said, covering her mouth and grinning when he felt her stick her tongue out against his hand. "There's more. You took every nasty question or comment he threw at you and either turned it around on him or ignored it - and you held onto your temper long after I would have lost mine."

"Bobby -"

"But what I loved the most," he went on, ignoring her interruption, "was watching your reaction when he made that move for you. You had him pinned to the wall before I could even start moving, and you didn't so much as blink, just kept on questioning him." He paused to kiss her temple, then added, "You impressed the hell out of me, Alex. You have no idea how proud I am of you after watching that scene."

"I impressed you?" she asked, sounding almost shy.

"God Eames, everything you do impresses me!" he said, wondering how the hell she could think otherwise. "And now that you know that, can we get out of these clothes and go to sleep without jackets and belts, like normal people?"

"Hey, I don't know about you," she said, tugging playfully on the front of his shirt, "but I happen to like sleeping in your clothes."

"You're welcome to them," he said, starting to unbutton his shirt. "I just want to get them off _me _right now."

With a shrug, she rolled off him and pulled off her own sweater. "Bobby?"

"What now?" he asked with a sigh, ridding himself of his undershirt.

Purposely timing the action so she could have an excuse to look away, she twisted around and unhooked her bra as she said, "When you were trying to get me to give you my phone before, in the car . . . you said you loved me."

He froze with his belt half-unbuckled. He'd almost managed to forget he'd let those words slip out . . . why was she bringing it up now? "Uh, sorry," he managed, clearing his throat and forcing his hands to start functioning again. "I was just . . . uh, you know . . . it slipped out. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh." She rolled away from him and dropped her bra on the floor. Then, still keeping her distance from him, she moved her hands to the button of her pants. "Does that mean you didn't mean it?"

Bobby groaned. "Look, Alex -"

"Answer me," she demanded, turning over and meeting his eyes. "Did you not mean it, or did you just not mean to _say _it?"

"Why are you -"

"Because I want to know, damn it!" she snapped. "You put the words out there; I should be allowed to ask for an explanation."

She wasn't going to let him get out of this without answering, he realized with sudden clarity. He was completely stuck. "I . . . I didn't want to upset you, and there was just never a time -"

"Bobby," she interrupted in a silky voice, leaning close to him, "if you don't answer my question, you're sleeping in the hallway tonight. Not even the couch - the hallway."

"Yes, I meant it," he replied with a sigh. "I just didn't think you wanted -"

"You could have asked me."

"You're right, I could have. But I didn't," he admitted, not knowing what else to say.

She waited a minute for him to ask the obvious question, but somehow she wasn't surprised when he didn't. Sitting up, she jabbed a finger at him as if she were accusing him of something and said, "I want you to pay attention when I say this. Got it, Goren?"

He nodded silently, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not her half-naked body.

"I haven't _needed_ you here with me for almost two weeks, but I haven't said a word about you leaving. You know why?"

He shook his head this time, still mute.

She sighed and slid down in bed again until her head was almost buried in the pillows. "It was because I love you and I want you here, and I was afraid if I gave you the chance to move out, you'd take it."

Silence descended heavily on the room for a minute before Bobby leaned over and pushed the pillows away from her face. "If that's true, why didn't you save us both a lot of embarrassment and just say it back when I said it this afternoon?"

"You didn't look like you even knew you'd said it. I had no idea if you meant it or if it was just part of your spiel to get the phone."

Another moment of silence, and then: "Alex?"

"What?" The word ended on a squeak as she felt one of his hands creep up her belly. In retaliation, she moved her hands to the belt he hadn't quite managed to unbuckle before they fell into this conversation.

"I love you. And I don't want to move out."

He was creating a clean slate for them to both say it out loud. She sighed happily and freed one hand to touch his face. "I love you too. But Bobby . . . if you stay here . . ." she said, letting the sentence trail off mysteriously.

"What?" he asked, suddenly nervous.

"You've gotta start paying half the utilities," she informed him with a grin just before she lowered her head and kissed him.

THE END

* * *

A/N: Well, it's over . . . thank you to everyone who's been reviewing so faithfully through 3 months and (I kid you not) 107,000 words of pointless fluff!

A/N 2: I'm not too big a fan of the sappy ending, but it just insisted on dropping itself in there and refusing to move. Apologies to all literary critics (because you know, a lot of them are closet fanfic nuts, uh-huh, I swear)!


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